


Master of Mine: A Broadchurch Doctor Who Crossover

by Spymaster13



Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Doctor Who Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Beth Latimer Has an Affair, Broadchurch Spoilers, Drinking to Cope, Ellie Miller (Broadchurch) Needs a Hug, Episode AU: s03e08-09 Human Nature/Family of Blood, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, False Memories, False Pregnancy, Human Doctor (Doctor Who), Journal of Impossible Things, Murder Mystery, POV The Master (Doctor Who), Parent/Child Incest, Police Officer Yasmin Khan, Post-Episode: s03e09 Family of Blood, Racism, Revenge Sex, Secret Identity, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23850175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spymaster13/pseuds/Spymaster13
Summary: The Family of Blood have escaped their traps for eternity for the ultimate revenge on the Doctor. When her fam are put in danger through time, she faces the ultimate choice. Lock herself away in a small human town without her memories or watch her friends die. After taking the identity of Beth Latimer, the Doctor pursues life in a blissful daydream, until it becomes a nightmare when Danny Latimer is found dead. Everyone is a suspect, even the handsome stranger calling himself John Smith.No one knows when John Smith came to the town, he's got no contacts, no connections. Except one thing. The Doctor phoned him for help.Who is he? Does he know who really killed Danny Latimer?And why have the scarecrows suddenly become a bit too restless?
Relationships: Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller, Beth Latimer/Mark Latimer, Thirteenth Doctor & Beth Latimer, Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Yasmin Khan/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a crossover between Doctor Who and Broadchurch for a long time but I wanted to wait until I could get a good grasp on the characters and how they would clash together with suspicion of each other. Dhawan's Master presented the perfect opportunity. This will contain adult themes. READ THE TAGS. Enjoy! Or scream. Or cry your eyes out. All are acceptable.

MASTER OF MINE: DOCTOR WHO MEETS BROADCHURCH  
....  
Chapter One: Family of Mine  
BROADCHURCH ECHO:  
Beth Latimer was spotted alone on the cliffs of our quiet Sea Quay, coincidentally by the spot where her beloved son Danny Latimer, Aged 11, fell to his death, just weeks ago. The wound is still fresh over the once peaceful seaside resort, the clouds are heavy with a stagnant air. Neighbors, once friends, head home early to avoid the shadows in the night, the police working around the clock. A horrific tent surrounding the spot where the boy's body was found still remains on the beach, but police refuse to comment when things will return to as normal as they could be. 

"People ain't flooding into the town like they should be!" exclaims a local on my evening at the Hotel Lodgings. "Bloody murder scene, innit? 'Fraid it'll be them next! Should've seen the buggers, lined up in biggest traffic jam I ever seen the mornin' of the boy's death. Now look at em, all cleared off! Everyone's afraid, police need to take action!"

As your ever avid reporter, I scoured the police station at their public enquiry about the supposed serial killing. It would seem the townspeople are well founded in their belief of police incompetence. Two new arrivals in the last week alone, including one forgien woman no one has ever seen before this case (which, in itself, should be treated as suspicious) and the man himself DI Alec Hardy. Mr. Hardy, you may remember, was responsible for the lasting damage on the Sandbrooke Murders. Meanwhile, DS Miller seems to be the most capable member assigned to the murder. I attempted to wrangle information from her, but was met with this stone cold response.  
"Listen, we aren't talking to the papers, we've told you this," says Miller. "I have kids of my own- two boys. Of course people are bloody terrified. The sooner we solve the case, the better for everyone. And we'll get it done a lot faster without you nosing around in our private workforce."

Broadchurch seems to be collapsing in on itself from activity of its most loyal members. Just last week, local grocer Jack Marshall has been uncovered in a truly shocking case of sexual relations with a minor. Parents are questioning just how safe their children are, and whether they should be enforcing stricter security measures. Your ever faithful reporter Abby Thompson signing off.  
.....  
Broadchurch had always been a quiet, somber town in the months it wasn't flooded with sea side tourist activity. A nice place to raise children or perhaps retire, or even get away from a life that one wanted to escape. It was a crime in Broadchurch not to adore the beach. The main source of income for the Broadchurch economy, preyed on in little shops that sold "beachy" antiques and "charming" postcards. And of course families came back every summer because who wouldn't want a sea side getaway? A break from all your problems, just for a blissful moment. That was what Broadchurch was supposed to be.  
The townspeople knew right away when someone was from the city; decked out in red skin from forgetting sunscreen, laughing with them and assuring them it was normal with an offer for 50% off lotion and an iced lolly for their child. The church assisted everyone who wanted their help, the mothers looked after the children, and the fathers worked at local bars or lodgings. As normal as a sea side town could be. Then the murder occurred. Then things started getting stranger and stranger.  
The people further and further from anything they knew as normal. Accusations thrown left and right from people they once considered friends. Dirty truths and horrid secrets uncovered, exposed by the press to the world. And their lives kept changing, kept churning, deep down all the wile, a monster breathed. And twisted. And grinned horribly. The monster of humanity.

Just the very thing the stranger that happened upon the sea side was looking for. He was an odd looking man, to say the least. Not remotely dressed for the summer weather he found himself in, as though he had miscalculated his route but ended up going anyway. His gentleman's coat flapped over the edges of his heels, dark purple and clashing horribly with the burning hot sun, but he did not seem to care in the slightest. His outfit, purple and multicolored stripes across his waist, a rather suave sense of fashion. Layers and layers of the fanciest clothing the people had seen in a while, giving him many a head turn, which he returned with a slight smirk to the attractive women. But the oddest thing about him, perhaps, that seemed to get him more odd glances than anything- was his light brown skin. Perhaps he was from abroad. Indian? There was something off- everyone was having trouble pinning down his ethnicity. As if he seemed to come from someplace else entirely. Oh, he knew people gossiped and whispered about him behind their hands as he strolled along the outskirts. 

But as he neared the center of town, activity of touristy hustle and bustle seemed to die down. Not at the usual standard for what would be a lovely little sea side resort. And something else- an underwhelming, creeping environment of fear. Parents glanced at him and hurried their small children along. People inside their homes and shops closed their drapery upon seeing him. He winced hearing the unmistakable sound of a lock click. Strangers were not welcome at this time. He quickly got the impression that this was a tight knit community, and he was very much an outsider. As he strolled along, dusk started to fall among the horizon, gulls cawing in the distance and waves crashing on the shoreline. He'd always hated the beach. Too peaceful. An underlying tension, people getting away from their lives. 

Just as the man was about to get lost in his thoughts, his hand running through his shaven beard, he collided with a mess of brown hair and scattered the shopping bags of a haggard looking woman, who was now apologizing profusely and rushing to pick everything up. The man helped her gather everything back into the carriers, stopping things from rolling away. And then when he straightened up, he got a good look at her, a right state she was. Looked as though she hadn't left the house in weeks. 'For her own good, bless her,' a sneaky voice whispered in the back of his mind. He hated how fast his mind was at catching onto situations, why couldn't he just have a nice conversation with the poor lady and offer to walk her home? But no- something wasn't right. His mouth dropped when she moved a brown hair out of her eyes. Hazel in color, he knew them well. And he knew the tired, old soul that lay beneath. Everything was off. Everything was- wrong. She wore a normal human outfit- normal human jeans and a purple top, paired quite sensibly with a jean jacket that now had food stains splattered everywhere. 

"Oh God, I'm so sorreh," the woman's accent was immensely Northern, the voice sending a shiver down his spine. "I weren't lookin' where I was- God- I've been droppin' everythin' since it- Oh God-" 

The man was flabbergasted as the woman burst into tears quite suddenly, flooding over her face very quickly. He didn't know what to do, afraid anything he *could* do would set the poor woman off, her tears were getting more intense now, her hands starting to shake. The man, luckily, recognized the symptoms of an anxiety attack far better than most people, and knew how to act fast. He placed an awkward hand on her shoulder, sighing in relief when she wasn't flinching away from him, nor making any move to attack him. His hands fluttered nervously over her jean jacket, giving her gentle instructions to breathe, that things were alright, that she was safe. When she seemed to calm down enough for her hazel eyes to meet his again, he felt another odd jolt. There was someone watching them. Or something. Something- wasn't right.

"I- don' I don' even know ya," the woman muttered. "Nicest thing anyone's done for me." 

"I'm- I suppose I'm a friend," the man finally spoke. "You want to tell me what's got you so upset, love?"

Her attitude changed almost immediately. She took a step back, became more haunched, more guarded. Clutching her bags nearer to her.

"You don' know," She breathed, gazing at him as though in wonder. "How can ya not know?"

"From out of town," the man made a quick excuse. "Quick holiday- seems there's trouble in paradise." 

"Out of town," the woman muttered, repeating him, stepping closer timidly. Studying him. As though staring into his eyes to read his purpose, before suddenly turning quite stern again. "Better ta' stay that way. Get yourself on the next tube out of here. Better for everyone." 

The woman cast a nervous, yet interested glance over her shoulder as she gathered her groceries and slung them over her arms, starting to make her way home once more. The man gave a cheeky smile as he advanced towards her, taking care not to get too close.

"And what if I stay for a bit to help you out and check on you?" the man asked. "Make sure you're OK?" 

The woman froze, her brown hair whipping around her shoulders in the horrid wind that was now overtaking their conversation as she moved more and more uphill, leaving him behind. She turned round with a soft smile of her own, moving a hair out of her face.

"Beth Latimer," she shouted over the gail. "Check the main lodgings. They'll put ya up if ya've got money." 

"Wouldn't be here if I haven't," the man smiled kindly, allowing her a laugh.

"And stay away from the beach! Not normal 'round here." 

She gave him a friendly wave, then sauntered back towards home, a newfound spring in her step as though she were hiding a precious secret. The man allowed himself a quick smile, shaking his head. This was *wrong.* This was all *wrong.* It was her, it had to be her. What the devil was she doing here of all places? And that scarecrow on the hillside just over the bend- why did he feel like it was watching him? The man felt a shiver go down his spine as he went to investigate, seeing the brief flash of purple that signified 'Beth Latimer' had crossed over the hill. His boots trudged through the mud as he got closer, it was a chilling thing to see. This just didn't seem like the kind of town that would deal with scarecrows. It was a seaside resort. No crows to fend off. It sent another shiver down his spine as he looked into his soulless eyes, the straw messing around its head into some screwed form of a body, topped with a straw hat and a farmers outfit. 

"What's your game out here?" the man whipped around at the voice of a young police officer. "Too many layers for all that sunshine?" 

"Something like that," the man muttered, taking another start of exactly who it was he spoke to.

Fucking shit. The young woman was in her natural element, the stark yellow of her uniform looking right at home as her hair twisted up in a bun. She stood tall, getting a notepad out of her jacket and starting to scribble down information.

"Saw you over there with Beth Latimer," she said, almost conversationally. "And people round here have been making awfully strange comments 'bout ya. Say you're making them uncomfortable." 

"Am I?" the man was baffled, well aware that everything he said was being scrutinized. "If a stroll through the village is criminal, I suppose you'll have to lock up all the tourists." 

"No tourists since the accident," said the policewoman, giving him a thoughtful look. "Or maybe you didn't hear about that. Look, all I want to do is make sure you weren't causing Beth or anyone else trouble. If you're not, go on your way."

"Out of town, you mean?" the man tilted his head cheekily.

"Has anyone else given ya that warnin'?" the woman asked, putting away her pen and paper. "Best take it while ya can. It's this lot- cant trust any of them. Tell ya what though, these scarecrows. They are odd. What're they supposed to be guardin'? And is it me, or do they feel like they're...lookin' at ya?" 

"Right through you," the man agreed with a slight shiver that had nothing to do with the wind.

"One request before I send you on your way," the woman said, shaking herself before standing very close to him, staring him down. "Stay away from Beth Latimer. I dunno who you think ya are, but she's been through a trauma and she don't need strangers poking 'round in her life. Don't want her hurt more than she already is, do you?" 

The man swallowed a lump he didn't know was in his throat before giving a slight nod. He placed his gentleman's hat back on and headed back down the hillside.

"Try Brixton!" the woman shouted after him. "Cheaper for holidays!" 

The man made his way back down the hillside for a final time, before casting a glance over his shoulder. The policewoman was gone. But- hadn't the scarecrow's arm been hanging by its left side before? Why was it suddenly reaching out, as though grabbing to choke someone. Where he had been standing moments before. Another shiver ran down the man's back as he passed by the shops who were now keeping their blinds shut and their closed signs turned over. The man finally came to the center of town, glancing up to the familiar red circle signifying the tube station leading underground. If he hurried, he could just about catch the last 18:00 train out back to London, but something pulled at him. A feeling of need, of want, of adventure. Just one night. 

He shook his head and turned towards the lodgings that Beth had mentioned, a charming English Rose cafe with bar tables scattered outside and a very rusty interior, as though it had been there for years. The bartender gave him a nod as he swept the dirt and grime off the counter so as to appear clean to customers. As soon as he took a seat in the lobby, a beautiful woman with the nametag 'Becca Fisher' rushed in, her blonde hair askew around her face.

"We're just about closing up for the night," she said, making a show of closing her cash register. "There's a 1800 to London if you'll be wanting an overnight tube-" 

"Money isn't an issue," he said smoothly, pulling out his wallet to her great delight, hearing the ding once more of the till sliding open.

"Right," she said, flustered. "Right, then. How long shall I put you up for? Bed and breakfast included, free refills at the bar- don't go too crazy just yet, everyone's still in mourning over that poor boy. Beth Latimer's son, bless her soul. But suppose you know about all that, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"Er- yes," was the man's hurried response. "I'll pay in cash."

"Great," said Becca with an award winning smile, as though talking down to him. "And how long will you be staying with us?"

"A while," the man replied. "Give it a week. For starters. And please book it under the name Harold Saxon."

"Ooh," Becca made an impressed sound as she filled in the register and fished around for the keys and he handed her a few hundred pounds. "Relative, are you? He was strange, that one. Always wondered what happened to him. Anyways, here's the key to your room. Number 13's just up on the second floor. Stunning view of the beach, nice and quiet." 

The man thanked her and started to head up the stairs, only to have the bar tender reach over the table and push a newspaper towards him. He gave the man a nod, as if to say 'read it and thank me later.' The man crumpled the paper in his hand and made his way up to his room, a quiet and dainty English suite. Old and rustic furniture, the waves crashing in the distance as the sun dipped below the horizon. A bunk bed sat in the corner of the room, a loo and a shower just down the hall. A fresh stack of tea and buiscuits were presented in a tray by the window. The man plunked the paper down on the desk facing the sea, and only then did he read the headline. Only then did he realize just how badly he'd fucked up.

'DANNY LATIMER: AGED TEN, SON OF BETH LATIMER, FOUND DEAD ON BROADCHURCH CLIFFSIDE LAST THURSDAY MORNING. FAMILY REFUSE TO COMMENT. KILLER STILL AT LARGE?'

Underneath was a photo of the woman he'd run into, smiling, with her little boy tucked under her arm. But it was her. It was *her.* And the policewoman, the bar man. He knew *both* of them. What the hell were they all playing at? Why was she *here?* The Master sighed, slipping off his shoes as he laid down on the bed. Beth Latimer's face flooded before him, her anxiety attack playing out clear as day. He had calmed her. Yasmin Khan- the police woman. And Graham- the bar tender.

But Beth- what the hell had the Doctor done? 

The crashing of the waves overtook the worries of his mind and the Master drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter Two: Five Orange Pips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master's suspicious arrival in Broadchurch with his close association with Beth leads him to police suspicion. The affair between Becca Fisher and Mark comes to light, and DS Miller reports blood found on Mark's boat. Why have five orange pips been sent to the Master's hotel room?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder that the Master knows who the Doctor is, but Beth has absolutely no idea. Yasmin and Graham are working to protect her from an unknown threat.

Chapter Two: Five Orange Pips  
The gentle crashing of the waves woke the Master from his slumber. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes, not thinking to bring a second outfit along for the journey, for he didn't know how long he intended to stay. Now that he was quite certain, this would be an issue. He grumbled a stream of creative curse words as he fumbled for the usual amenities his TARDIS usually provided, his tired mind catching up to the fact he didn't have any washroom items with him, safe for a spare comb that he always carried in his jacket to straighten up the annoying strands of hair which always seemed to fall just over his eyes, obstructing his vision. The women seemed to love this, and were particularly fond of when he blew it back and shook the rest of his hairs back into place. As he stretched his legs and rubbed his tired eyes, there was a knock at the door and a smiling Becca Fisher entered, carrying a tray of ammenities, a toothbrush, comb, cheap toothpaste and a pound store razor blade. 

"Appreciate it," the Master gave her a dazzling grin, a blush appearing across her cheeks. 

"There's a Newsagent just round the corner and a grocers a couple blocks down if you'll be needing more," she said with an apologetic smile. "I couldn't help noticing you didn't have luggage last night- so I thought, just as a courtesy..."

"No, no, it's lovely, thanks," the Master cringed as he feigned human politeness, attempting to let her down easily as she shifted awkwardly in the doorway, as though waiting for something from him. "Er- anythin' else?" 

"Yes, er- I never caught your name," said Becca, her cheeks turning a shade of scarlet as she fumbled for her clipboard. "You said to book it under Harold Saxon. It must be incredibly interesting having such a famous relative."

"Never a dull moment," said the Master, after a soft sigh of his skin color once again hitting him. "Smith. John Smith. Sorry, I was in a bit of a state last night. I've had a read through the paper. It seems I've come at a bad time."

"A bit," Becca gave an apologetic shrug, but the Master knew she would want to keep up appearances. "Give it a week or two, it should die down. Oh, the bartender was asking for you, wanted to give you local tips and all that nonsense. If there's anything else you need- I'm always down the hall." 

The unwanted tension in the Master's shoulders dropped as Becca left the room. The scene was not unfamiliar to him. Many a time, in this body alone, he'd been tempted, swayed by a beautiful blonde. For his rugged looks, his intimidating persona, his aftershave. But there was something about Becca Fisher, something that sounded the alarm in his mind. She ran a hotel, didn't she? She could have her pick of anyone who came through the doors with her looks, and damned he was if she didn't tip everyone off about the local bars and pubs within a mile radius. No, the Master didn't tend to go for that particular type of women, and he'd had long to think about it. He supposed it stemmed from his late wife Lucy Saxon, who'd been utterly devoted to him before eventually despising his entire being. A pretty thing, she was. Put her on display in a nice red dress showing off her figure and have the nation fooled that he ran a quiet and loving relationship behind the doors of Downing Street.

Look at him now, in a dingy hotel room off the shores of a costal English village. Saxon would have scoffed at the very idea. The Master pondered over this, his mind kicking into gear as he doused himself in cold water and rid himself of the tube station smell, shaving his beard to meet his chin. He clambered downstairs, the "bartender" giving him a friendly wave and an 'alright, cockle?' to which the Master had to resist the urge of punching his square jaw. Instead, he gave a very forced smile and took a seat at an empty table, away from the chattering and already swearing customers at the bar, even at the ungodly hour of half 9. Graham managed to pull himself away from the chatty lot and brought the Master a classic English breakfast and hot chocolate, taking an empty chair and pulling it over. 

"No use with them over there, they've been here since midnight," Graham sighed. "Hit a couple of other bars in the evening and then come crash here until the next night. Dunno how Becca puts up with it. Sleep alright? Have a look at that article I gave ya?"

"Yes, thank you," the Master sighed, couldn't he have one minute to himself! Fucking- "Now, when are you and Yaz going to stop pretending and tell me what the hell the Doctor's done to herself? Come on, cut to it. I haven't come for a seaside holiday with a suntan and hours of conversation."

"Keep it up like that cockle, and that's exactly what you'll be getting," said Graham, his attitude changing at a glance around the room. "Alright. Yes. It's tricky with the Doc, innit? The timelines don't match up. For her, I reckon its about three months after the mess you pulled on Gallebay. Then she dropped us back off, had a bit of a run in with some rhino men an- she told us she were in prison. Didn't like it much, but a man called Captain Jack Harkness helped her out. How about you, then? Where's you in the picture?"

"Gallifrey," the Master said through gritted teeth. "It's called- Gallifrey. Gallebay. Jesus Christ, if I've got to put up with you and the pretty girl for a few weeks I *will* lose it. I've been hiding out on Earth, biding my time. It's funny, the places I've escaped from, I doubt you'd believe me. Living through the late 40s with my skin color- the slurs they've called me. I must've gone through all of the classics in a day."

"Alright, it's not been easy for ya, I get that," sighed Graham. "She did wonder- it's not important. What is important, for now, is you not getting involved in the Latimer family affair. It's a terrible thing what happened to the boy, she's heartbroken. Losing a loved member of the family, a son- it aint easy. And she doesn't need you messing everything up for her."

"And I suppose you'd know all about that," the Master snapped. 

The look in Graham's eyes suddenly changed. He pushed aside his chair, fishing around in his jacket for the touristy leaflets and guidebooks with the large block letters 'Broadchurch' stamped across the top. Graham flung them over the table, not caring that they scattered over the half-eaten eggs and toast. The Master closed his eyes, taking a deep controlling breath before sweeping all the leaflets together in a neat pile, very deliberately.

"Enjoy your stay, Master," said Graham, turning back round. "No- I don't like calling you that. O was nice, perhaps the name will make up for how much of an ass you are." 

With an exaggerated sigh, the Master finished off his breakfast and left a measly 5 quid for the tip, knowing full well it was polite for humans to tip bar tenders at least a tenner. He wrapped his purple coat around him to brace against the seaside wind and made his way back into the gail. It was just as the Master predicted, if not less tense than yesterday. It seemed everyone had been calling around the lodgings to get a look at this new arrival with the mysterious background and whispered relation to the former prime minister. He mingled with the locals for a while to keep up appearance, looking at the tacky seashells and fishing nets the shops along the high street sold with pride, ripping everyone off who came for holiday. His walk took him along the shore, unknowingly close to the cliffside where the boy had been found not only a week before. 

It was only then, with his hair whipping around his face and getting in his eyes, the sea salt spray hitting his nose from his high vantage point, that he felt incredibly stupid. Of course Beth was in mourning. Of course the Doctor would believe whatever silly story she had given herself. She had always wanted children, Theta. Back in the days of the achademy, she had gushed about it, how wonderful it might be, teased about the two of them giving it a go before getting strangely close to the Corsair. The Master didn't like to think about that. Now, she fully believed Danny Latimer was her son, and that he had been murdered. The Master let out a strangled yelp as yet again he was collided into by a mess of brown hair. 

Just his luck, as they detangled themselves, it was Beth Latimer. Out for a morning run; he had to admit the Doctor looked a picture with messy brown hair, sweat beading across her brow. She looked as though she had run a marathon, out of breath and dressed in all the right gear. He had to give himself another shake at seeing the Doctor in regular human clothes, it had thrown him for a loop the first time and now was no different. She looked *wrong* without her raincoat. *Wrong.* His mind blared. *Wrong, it's all wrong.*

"Oh my god- I cannot apologize enough," Beth scrambled for words as she realized who it was she had bowled to the ground, helping him up. "You stayed! I was so hopin' ya would. The hotel, they treatin' ya alright?" 

"No harm done," the Master grinned, his lips twitching genuinely. "We seem to make a habit of this, don't we? It's a charming place- thanks for the rec. Bartender could be a bit nicer." 

"Aw, he's a strange one isn't he?" Beth smiled, moving a hair out of her eyes. "I were just on my mornin' run. I dunno if you'd want to- there's still a bit to go. Could walk the rest of the way."

"No, no, don't worry about me," said the Master quickly, heading Graham and Yaz's word of warning. "It's you I wanted to...listen, are you sure you're alright doing this? Running, alone by the cliffs? Don't you think it's a bit risky?"

"You've seen the papers," Beth said, her smile dropping almost instantly, whatever front she had hoped to put on fading. "Distressed local Broadchurch mum. That's me. Never be anythin' else. God- just lookin' at that cliff, it doesn't seem real."

The Master felt a pang of something in his chest that, if he was honest with himself, he didn't think he was capable of feeling. Deep regret, perhaps pity. He tried to gather up something, an apology, a reassurance, anything, but she would have heard it all before. Instead, he led her over to a bench and just as he had done before, he was there to listen. It had always been this way with the Doctor and the Master. They knew each other better than anyone, certainly the longest. Her silly pets, telling him to stay away. As if he was going to listen.

"Beth," the Master breathed, her name strange on his lips as he looked into the Doctor's brilliant hazel eyes. "I know- I know you keep hearing this. I know it's all anyone can say, they're all so desperate. All of them, hiding who they truly are, thinkin' an apology will somehow make things better. It's not going to change anythin' if I apologize or not. You won't feel any better. What can *I* do, Beth? What do you need from me?" 

"I guess- a friend," said Beth after a long pause, her hair whipping around her face as she looked out at the crashing waves. "A friend that no one else knows about. That'd be nice. Not have the press swarming down me neck every god damn hour of the day. Come on, do they really need a picture of my rose garden? They once caught me half comin' out the shower before Mark told em to clear off." 

"The dogs," the Master chuckled, giving her a short laugh and a smile, a brilliant smile that he so easily could have seen across the Doctor's face. "Friend. I can do that. How's about this, every morning when you come out for a run, long as it takes, I'll meet you at this bench and we can half an hour to ourselves. A daydream."

"God, that sounds nice," Beth said, a choked sob escaping her lips as she caught sight of the cliffside once more. "Sometimes, I just can' help thinking. Why him? Why my baby boy? Why did he have to- why would someone *do* that to him?" 

"Oh, darling..." 

The Master looked over to her for permission, and only when she gave a nod did he pull her into his arms and allow her to rest her head on his shoulder, holding her as she cried. The waves crashed on the cliffside, washing away the painful memories as he soothed her with soft whispers and when she was comfortable, a gentle hand in her hair. 

"I hardly know ya," Beth whispered. "But- I- I *feel* like I do. Is that wrong? It feels like we've met before. You're so kind to me, and you're stayin' to help. No one's done that for me. Ever." 

"Another lifetime, perhaps," the Master said mysteriously, gently tracing patterns across her back. "I dunno if I ever said- John Smith."

"No one's called John Smith," Beth mumbled, giving his arm a playful jab.

A silence fell over them, Beth growing increasingly more chilly in the Master's arms with her running gear unable to brace back the wind. He hesitated, then peeled his coat from his shoulders and wrapped it around her, dwarfing her body and making her look like a small kitten. All too soon, as the Master was becoming familiar with the beat of her singular heart, Beth let out a shaking breath the two separated without a word. The Master caught sight of something very interesting on the beach, but focused his attention on the Doc- on Beth. Beth, he kept reminding himself. The Doctor wouldn't have hugged him like this in a million years.

"Tomorrow, yeah?" the Master said. "You usually out this time every day?" 

"Whenever I can get away from my mum's beady eyes," Beth chuckled, then boldly reached forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Might even see ya before then. And thanks. This means everythin' t' me." 

The Master gave a gentle smile and waved as she started up again, jogging back and forth as though deciding where to go, where to run next, where to run that was away, *away* from the cliff, away from Danny, away from everything. She took a last look at him before taking off again, the wind in her hair as she ran off to the hillside. The Master watched her go in solidarity, then went to the cliffside on his own. He'd seen this in all the photos, tall and looming, the highlight of the sea, it seemed. Now, the very thing that brought tourists in here by the dozen was a murder scene, drenched in invisible blood. A small hut on a rock that the Master had never seen in the photos lay adjacent to the cliffs, not too far away from a campsite of caravans. He was always very observant, able to spot anything out of place from reality. 

It was helpful for spotting any immediate danger, but extremely inconvenient to others he happened to be with at the time who were less observant and intelligent than he. He had a keen eye for details. A small boat was laid against the cliffside, but the one thing that caught the Master's attention from the path: it hadn't been there in the photograph in the newspaper. And the paper was posted for last Thursday. The Master took off in a run down the cliff, trudging through the sand and battling the wind. He moved his hair out of his eyes and examined the edge of the boat. 

*Shit.* A good sized puddle of blood ran along a sharp and rusty nail, dried, it had been there for a while. But the boat, presumably whoever owned it moved it back to the scene, knowingly or unkowingly. Still, can't hurt, might help. He rang the police station.  
.....  
Not more than five minutes later, a lone police car pulled up with blaring yellow colors to the seaside. The Master could hardly believe his eyes at the unlikely pair that left the car. It was the policewoman from the papers, DS Miller, and a face he'd seen before. He was very familiar with it, he could hardly believe this was possible. One Doctor was bad enough but -*two* of them? It wasn't- there would have been a paradox ages before he'd shown up. *Wrong* his mind blared. It's *wrong.* But it was him! The spiky brown hair, the messy beard, he'd let himself go a bit, but it was unmistakably the face Saxon had been so familiar with. 

The face Saxon had caged on the Valliant. How the hell could his Doctor and this Doctor be here at the same time? Reapers should be swarming all over the place. As the police made their way down the hillside, DS Miller shook the Master's hand but DI Hardy seemed less amused. Indeed, he was so familiar with seeing the expression across this face that he was not swayed in the slightest. The detective jacket however, did him the favor of looking more like himself, much more so than Beth Latimer. 

"Had a call in from our newest protegee, DI Khan," said DI Hardy, his beady eyes glaring down at the Master. "Seems to me she's a bit below her post in police training, but she's right about you. Thought you seemed suspicious wandering the hills yesterday. And there's all sorts of buzz at the local hotel- you've arrived last night. Any reason why?" 

"Seaside holiday, innit?" the Master shrugged, putting on an air of innocence, which he could see wasn't fooling DI Hardy in the slightest. "Came down here for a nice walk, found this boat and saw blood splatters. Figured- police should know about it at the very least." 

"That's Mark Latimer's boat," DS Miller breathed, moving a hair out of her eyes as the pair examined it. "It wasn't here last week, perhaps the killer wanted to send a message?" 

"It smelt awful," said the Master, wrinkling his nose. "Caught the scent a mile away- somethin' burning, I thought. But it were this boat, and look here-there's a bit of ash on this side here." 

"And you were walking just over the hillside?" DI Hardy raised an eyebrow, the Master nodding in response. "Quite a good sense of smell you've got. Funny thing is, we've had a few complaints in about you. People seem to think you're someone to be worried about."

"Oh for Christ sakes, if you question *him* you may as well think its a good idea to bring in all the fishermen on duty that night!" Miller exclaimed, her body language signifying she had been holding back for a while. "Explain to me why thats a good idea!"

"Explain to me why it's not," DI Hardy shot back. "Listen, you've been a big help with this boat. But Chloe Latimer, the daughter. She said you've been getting very familiar with Beth. A bit too familiar if you don't mind me saying. I think it's best you come in for a few questions." 

"Of course, any way I can be of assistance," the Master gave an awkward smile. 

DS Miller led the way back to the cab, shooting him an apologetic glance. She was a funny one, the Master reasoned. A rank below her boss yet unafraid to show any backbone. The pair bickered for the whole of the journey to the police station. One thing DI Hardy had said resonated in the Master's mind however. Chloe Latimer, how had she known about him and Beth? When he was around Beth the next time, he would have to check his surroundings more carefully. DS Miller rather forcefully opened his door and offered him to walk ahead of her into the swanky office building at the end of town. People whispered behind their hands, wasn't that the mysterious stranger at the local inn? Wasn't that the Indian man, the one with the relation to Saxon? What secrets might the team uncover? 

He contained his surprise with a raised eyebrow as DS Miller handed him a freshly brewed coffee, suspecting he was earning her compassion by unwanted suspicion from her boss. As the Master scanned the room, he caught sight of the pretty girl from the Doctor's batch of companions. Yasmin Khan. Hardly DI, but police traniee. He'd done enough research on all of them to know their life stories since the plane crash. It was a lot, living through the 20th century on ones own with this skin, he needed some way to pass the time. She gave him a stern look over her files before marking something off on a sheet of paper before making her way over to DS Miller.

"This the man I told you about?" she asked. "Glad you got him in, maybe he can tell us more about why he's here. I suspect he knows something about the case- why bother coming to Broadchurch otherwise? I'm about to clock off, anything else need taking care of for the Latimer family?"

"You've done well, DI Khan," Miller sighed, Yaz's grin vanishing at her next words. "You've done well at giving my boss yet another reason to suspect every living soul in Broadchurch, I reckon he won't stop until he's got the whole of the coast in the station under that tape recorder. But yes- there is something else you can do. Chloe Latimer, I don't want to do this to Beth, but she has got to stop finding suspicion in every stranger she meets. Keep an eye on her for me, and tell her to stay away from this man. Oh, and have a nose around the caravans if you can. I don't like the look of how close they were to the cliffside."

DI Khan gave a very whispered 'Yes ma'am' before throwing on her overcoat, her cheeks a steady shade of scarlet. She glared the Master down as she left the station and he was escorted into a tiny room. The tape recorder was set at the end of the table, DI Hardy and DS Miller on either side while a transcriber recorded their conversation. He suspected they had done this thousands of times in the last couple weeks, giving the same speech to open the investigation unto another innocent soul finding themselves under unwanted scrutiny. 

"Please state your name for the record," said DS Miller.

"Smith," the Master replied. "John Smith."

"Oh, please," DI Hardy sighed, pinching his nose. "This is going to get us nowhere if you lie about your goddamn name." 

"I *said* give him a chance," Miller snapped. "If he says his name is John Smith, his name is bloody John Smith. When you arrived to Broadchurch, were you aware of the murder of twelve year old Danny Latimer?" 

"I had absolutely no idea," the Master replied seriously. "I found it in a guidebook, thought it sounded rather lovely for a holiday." 

"And yet Becca Fisher tells us you arrived with no suitcase or clothes to stay the night and booked the room under Harold Saxon," said DI Hardy, the name sounding very strange on his lips, with his Doctor's face. "Didn't plan ahead well."

"Well, no one quite knows when they're going to fall in love with the sea, do they?" the Master asked. "And then, yes, I did run into Beth Latimer. Helped her through an anxiety attack, I'm told they're common if someone's son dies. I assume this is said under absolute confidentiality?"

"If your alibi checks out," DI Hardy didn't miss a beat as DS Miller sighed and gave him a small nod. "Last Thursday evening, when the news of the boy's death was Broadcast. What were you doing? Did you see the story on the news?" 

"I was down at the pubs with a couple mates," the Master swallowed nervously. "One of them mentioned the town, they were planning a trip next week- and I thought, why not see what all the buzz is about?"

"You didn't see any of the Latimer Family on television?" DS Miller asked.

"No, ma'am, I did not," he replied. "As I say, a frequent world traveller such as myself can happen upon many a mystery. I just got thrown on the wrong side of the tracks this time around." 

"Didn't you just," DI Hardy sighed. "DI Khan requested the day you arrived that you stay away from the Latimer family, sentiments that I am now aware the bartender at the local Inn shared with her. Yet you didn't listen. Chloe Latimer said she saw you in a rather compromising position with her mother." 

"She was the first person I ran into when I arrived," the Master said, truthful for the first time since he got there. "I had no idea who she was until I read the papers. We met today by chance. I have only one request- please don't ruin this for her. She's under terrible strain, she needs one nice thing. Something to keep for herself. I weren't meddling, I wasn't asking her anything about the murder, I didn't even *know* about the killing until last night. But if *she* wants me here-I can't exactly say no, can I?" 

"No," said Miller, to the Master's great surprise. "No, you can't. If she says you can stay, I believe her. Does the Detective Inspector have anything to add to this interview?"

"Why were you looking at the scarecrows?" DI Hardy asked suddenly.

"I'm sorry?" 

"Just yesterday, I saw you on the hillside with DI Khan, looking them over," DI Hardy said. "As if something was *wrong.*" 

"Well, I- I just thought it was odd," said the Master.

"In what way?"

"Why have *scarecrows* by a seaside resort?" he asked, genuinely looking into DI Hardy's eyes. 

"Yes," said DI Hardy, as though pondering this himself. "Why indeed? Interview terminated 5:02 pm."

The Master was quite confused as DI Hardy reached across the table to switch off the tape recorder. DS Miller gave him a gentle smile and escorted him out of the room, leading him down the steps of the police station.

"Sorry," she said. "He can be an ass at the best of times. You've caught him at his worst. Find your way back alright?" 

"Should be able," the Master grimaced. "Sorry, bout raising suspicion. If I see anythin' else out the ordinary, you'll be the first I call." 

DS Miller gave him a gentle smile and nodded that it was OK for him to leave. He pondered where to go next, his steps taking him aimlessly back to the Inn. He could crash here for a while, ignoring the bartender and Becca Fisher the best he could, as both had been far too eager to report his movements to the police. When he got back to his room, however, he noticed something out of place. When Becca had brought the tray in, there hadn't been a new morning edition of the Broadchurch Echo attached, and there certainly had not been five orange pips placed upon the edge of the tray.

The Master's phone chimed as a voice memo came in, did people still send voice memos? And who was this blocked number? The sun set crossed his room as he flopped on the bed and slid the screen lock across. "BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.' Was that it? Four pips. The Master, dreading it, looked back to the window. One of the pips on the tray was gone. All he had done was hang his jacket in the bathroom. How the ruddy hell? He searched the floor, scrambling around the bed. The last thing he wanted to do was look outside. And when he did, a chill ran down his spine at the single occupant. A lone scarecrow. 

The window latch barely ajar.  
.....  
Dusk fell across Broadchurch once more, the sinister looking grey sky alluding the night of Danny's death. The Master wrapped his jacket around himself, a strong pull leading him to the seaside. As though something were about to happen, that he should be there for. He pushed open the door, trying to block out what sounded like grunts of pain and a splash in the bathtub from the room down the hall. Jesus Christ. What else would it be? He ignored the sounds and continued downstairs, pausing only to glare at Graham as he frantically tried to tell him something before letting the door close behind him. 

The cold night breeze flapped his jacket around his ankles as he wandered towards the seaside, stopping at a bar nearby. The chattering and drunken shouts of patrons threatened to sway his attention from where his gaze was automatically drawn. It was two people standing by the parking lot that held his attention; Becca Fisher was unmistakable with her bouncy blonde hair, her arms wrapped around a tall man's shoulders. He recognized the man from the pictures in the paper: Mark Latimer, husband of Beth. He got the impression quite fast that he was seeing something he was not meant to see, and tried very much to remain in the shadows, moving closer all the while. 

"It could have worked out," Mark was saying. "Us. What we did- it was wrong. But we could have worked."

"No," said Becca. "Maybe- before. But not now. It's wrong, Mark. This is wrong."

"But was it nice?"

"The sex, you mean?" Becca laughed quietly. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But you need Beth now, and she needs you. It can't happen again."

At this simple phrase, the Master heard a clatter of footsteps on the deck of the bar, and saw a swish of brown hair turn and run. He knew the gait and walking pace of the person watching, after all she had run into him so many times. He rushed into the shadows, following her until she reached the cliffside once again. She wiped a single tear from her cheek and chose the bench to sit on; their bench. He approached her quietly, not wanting to startle or scare her.

"Mark slept with Becca Fisher," she said quietly. "The night Danny was killed."

"Sweetheart..." 

The Master felt strange hearing the words tumbling from his own lips, but she was heartbroken. Resting her head in her hands, a soft sob escaping. He quickly sat next to her and gathered her in his arms, gently running his hands through her brown hair. Nothing else mattered in that moment. Just Beth, just the Doctor, and how much heartbreak her human heart could bare. Once her sobs died down, he lifted her chin with his thumb, looking into her eyes.

"What do you want to do, Beth?" the Master said. "How can I help you?" 

"I want to get back at him," Beth replied, her voice shaking, trembling with emotion. 

The Master was caught off guard as she wrapped her arms around him and her lips crashed into his. The sound of the waves washed everything away, hiding every secret that threatened to bubble up beneath the depths. Across town, a police woman and a barman met together and hugged. They approached a shed not far from the caravans, just out of sight. The policewoman unlocked the doors with a sigh and the two stepped into the barn, gazing up at the blue police box. On the hillside, scarecrows twitched, and turned, and breathed. They looked up at the glowing windows of the town, and their lips curled into big, toothless grins.  
......


	3. Chapter Three: Master of Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master and Beth grow closer, but Beth puts a devious plan in place. Meanwhile Yaz and Graham recount what happened to the Doctor and Ryan fights against the Family of Blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Could I have split this chapter into two sections? Probably. Did I? No. Prepare for a lot of exposition and a frustrating ending!

Chapter Three: Master of Disguise  
It was just another day in the TARDIS. The warm, glowing, orange atmosphere reminding the Doctor of home. Perhaps that was why Idris chose it for her. She could tell her fam loved it; the big smiles as they always passed through the expanded clockwork doorway, ready for an adventure away from all their worries. Course, it could have been her being a daft old alien and oblivious to the fact that they all utterly adored spending time with her and were worried sick about her. Sometimes, like today, the Doctor sat at the console for hours on end, presumably fixing some sort of machinery. The fam draped themselves over the TARDIS steps for a chat, Graham finding his favorite chair to curl up with an old novel. They knew she was *sad.* What they didn't know was just *how* sad. How miserable, how depressed. Hidden away with warm smiles and cups of tea, endless enthusiasm and bad jokes. The best people always hid depression behind their smiles, the Doctor reasoned. Don't want anyone endin' up like them. 

"Fancy a trip?" she stopped hitting the golden machinery with her hammer, at this point using the poor bit of console to get her frustrations out. "Haven't done any deep dives into history for a while, have we? Tell ya what, me and Agatha Christie, we're good mates. Well, should be once her memory's back in order and we've sorted out the shock. Funny thing about old Agatha, she knew a lot more about giant wasps than she were tellin'- you're not sayin' much." 

"Well, at this point, you usually go off on one of your mad stories," said Graham. "We just let you carry on for a bit. Tell you what though, it's a nice change. Been quiet for days, you have." 

"Have I?" the Doctor shifted nervously. "Must've said something at some point. I swear the last thing I said was, Yaz, be a star and pass me the spanner."

"Yeah, three hours ago," said Yaz. "Then ya started fixin' things before having a go at your broken TARDIS bits. What's happened?" 

The console room plunged into a deep red color, worry spreading over the Doctor's face. Her hands fluttered nervously around the controls, hitting each and every lever and switch that she could. Ryan had asked what they all did at some point, only to be silenced by a joke or unintended insult. She brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear, a quirk of when she was concentrating very hard on something. Yaz had noticed this first. And Graham, well, this was all fanciful and technobabble to him. Long as Ryan was safe, his job was done well. She seemed most comfortable with Yaz in the closest proximity to her, allowing her a gentle touch on the arm that she didn't flinch away from. 

"Doctor?" 

"I can' believe it," the Doctor slumped against the controls. "My TARDIS has been shut down. All systems drained. Someone's hacked the controls. They're controlling this thing and it isn't me." 

Her hands nervously moved the thick wiring and heavy machinery out of the way, getting on her back to examine the interior panels. She returned with a sad scronch face, a delighted 'ha!' when she yanked a wire and caused a small shower of sparks to explode. The Doctor scrambled back to her feet, tongue nervously running across her teeth as the screen fizzled on with a blurred 'INCOMING MESSAGE.' As the grainy lines faded away, the Doctor dove for Yaz, shielding her from hitting the ground with intensely quick reflexes as the room started to shake, tilting from one side to the other, then wobbling back and forth again.

"Doc, what's happening, you said we wasn't in flight!" Graham exclaimed. 

"We're not!" the Doctor yelled, clutching the console as everyone fought to stay upright.

She firmly yanked the video screen into position, a group of four standing in place during a prerecorded message. A large, beefy man with a mustache, a shorter, strict looking woman, an innocent little girl with a long plait of blonde hair, and a tall, rather handsome boy. The girl was clutching tightly to the string of a red balloon, and their mouths moved at exactly the same time. 

"You thought you could hold us for eternity?" they said as nasty grins spread across their faces. "The universe disagrees. In return, we give you a penance. We have escaped our eternity traps. Now the time has come for yours. The prison of a time lord."   
....  
Beth woke in the wee hours of the next morning, the uncomfortable bed reminding her that this was very much not her home, and she was *not* sleeping next to Mark. Instead, she was in the arms of this tall, dark skinned stranger. She'd had many an offer over the years, but gone against her better judgement and chosen to stay with the man she'd fallen in love with at 15 years old. It was quite odd, there was a gap in her memory. She couldn't remember how she had fallen in love with him. What he did, what she did. She just knew that they had been together for a long time. And- and it *hurt* when he was with Becca Fisher. She wanted to retaliate the best she could, cause that same hurt. That same, burning feeling. 

She thought it would be more satisfying. Instead, regret pined at her soul. Beth was always forgiving. More than most. But lately, it seemed she had put all the effort into their marriage. Arranging hiking trips with the family, dragging the fussing teenager around and making sure she stayed on the beaten path to the best of her knowledge. Now, her entire family seemed to be going behind her back. First Dan, then Chloe, now Mark. It was only fair she got something in return, wasn't it? She studied the man next to her, but wasn't able to place him. Dark, mysterious, kind, able to listen. An offer of friendship, perhaps something more. A stranger. 

But...was he really? There was something in the back of her mind, as if it were hidden, tucked away. Like it was forbidden to touch. But the strong pull, stronger every day. Curiouser and curiouser. The yearn for this secret knowledge that she'd hid away from herself. Why? And why was *he* part of these memories? Why could she see his face, why could she connect him to emotions of distrust, of fear, of yearning and heartbreak? It made her seem like a lovesick puppy. Perhaps this secret part of her brain made her so keen on this stranger in the first place. This fairytale she invented in her mind, it was a wonderful escape. Seemed now she needed it more than ever. Needed it to be real. 

Beth moved the covers and went to get her overcoat, settling for wrapping herself in the silk sheets that lay atop the bed. She was sure she looked a picture, covered in sweat from the previous night, her hair a rats nest. She made a faint rustling that woke the man who said he was called 'John Smith', causing him to stir quietly and turn over to face her. His lips twitched into a faint smile as he watched her dig through her pockets, illuminated by the morning sun. 

"You're beautiful," he said.

"Shut up," was Beth's intuitive reply. "Bet you say that to all the women you've shagged. Hit up your local Inn every Thursday? Bet you do."

"Can I let you in on a secret?" said John Smith, sitting upright as he observed her. "That was- my first in a long while. My other partners, they were a bit- Scottish."

"Oh, I see!" Beth gave a soft chuckle. "Ya' go *abroad* to shag people." 

"Nah," he grinned. "Only the pretty ones. What's that you've got?"

"You'll laugh," Beth groaned, for she had just unearthed a tattered book, which looked rather like a diary. 

"With you lookin' like that in the sunlight?" John Smith smiled. "I ain't laughing."

Beth had to turn away to hide a rather giddy, girlish grin that was spreading across her face. She moved a brown hair out of her eyes, her small figure blocking out the sun streaming through the glass windowpane, early morning dew drops starting to fade. John Smith scooted over to make room for her and patted a spot next to him on the bed as she gave a deep sigh, as though contemplating. Beth slowly sat down and crossed her legs, opening the journal. It was then John Smith saw that the book was faded, but it had the same design of a TARDIS on the outside that River Song's diary had. John Smith's eyes grew wide as he scanned a few pages, beautiful drawings and sketches of fantastical creatures lay within the margins, scribbled handwriting of a ghostly tale.

"I have this...dream," said Beth, looking quite bashful, fanciful even. "And in it- I'm this traveller. This adventurer. These stories, these drawings. They're what I see every time I close me eyes."

"You've got quite an imagination," said John Smith, pointing to a caged metal creature, an eyestalk sprouting from his head. "Looks nasty, that one. You've made these people so beautiful." 

"That's how I see 'em," she replied simply. "They're all beautiful to me." 

John Smith turned a page of the diary after looking to her for permission. Her hands quickly darted over to the book and slammed it shut however, when he came across a drawing of a beautiful Victorian woman. Her hair in ringlets, she looked quite sickly, her eyes dull from emotion, her expression lost. John Smith tried very hard not to show any reaction, swallowing a lump he didn't know was in his throat. In the tiniest handwriting he had seen, as though it were an afterthought, 'What happened to Missy?' was scrawled under the sketch. 

"She looks like a force to be reckoned with," he chuckled. 

"Yeah, I think she was," Beth grinned sadly. "She- seems to disappear. In later chapters. Not sure what 'appened. Left a hole." 

Beth looked around the room with a start, as though coming back to reality. To a reality where she had just shagged a stranger, in retaliation for her husband cheating with the local hotel owner. A reality where her child had been murdered. Her eyes clouded over, any trace of hope he had seen in them while she was standing in the sun, smiling, while she was telling him the stories, all of it was gone. 

"I think ya've seen enough now," she said. 

"Sorry," John Smith rushed to pull himself together. "I'm so sorry-I didn't mean to upset you. You've got enough on your mind already." 

"Ya haven't," Beth smiled sadly, gathering her clothes. "Ya haven't upset me. Fact, it- it were nice." 

"Tell you what," said John Smith after they had both assembled some form of put togetherness, standing by the door and about to go their separate ways. "We could go for a drink. You and me, just a one off."

"I'll do you one better," Beth grinned, fastening the straps of her jacket. "There's a village fete this weekend- sort of like a dance with cheap games. We could go together. Not let anyone in on it. And I'll have you on for that drink- Thursday sound alright?"

John Smith pretended to be very interested in checking his phone, the two like excited teenagers discovering each other all over again. He loved this, secretly, but he knew it was wrong. Wrong to mess with her feelings like this, wrong because he knew he would get hell for it when her mind was put back together. These stories, these secrets, they were all real. He knew it, Yaz and Graham knew it. What the *fuck* had happened to the Doctor to make her go this far? This needed proper investigating. First, though, he would play her at her own game and see just how close he could get.

"Thursday- that's tomorrow," he grinned. "I'll mark it in. Hey- why'd ya think ya had to explain the village fete to me?"

"Didn't know if they had 'em in Scotland," Beth teased. 

"Cheeky bastard." 

Beth grinned and pecked John Smith on the cheek before grabbing her purse and car keys, closing the door behind him to the abandoned caravan on the cliffside, dangerously close to the murder scene. And not far at all from where she had hidden her TARDIS, her past life, and locked it all away.  
.....  
The newspaper office of the Broadchurch Echo was usually an extremely busy place, stories dashing in and out the door, secrets uncovered, lives changed and in some cases, destroyed forever. Olly, a new and excited, mostly determined intern for the Echo was doing his best to get over the fresh rejection from Daily Mail, the last local newspaper he had sent in his application. He knew he had the skills the big news wanted, but he needed a case to prove himself. His boss, Maggie Radcliffe, was a sharp, keen eyed woman with a good sense of other's personality. She had given him a chance when everything else had turned him away, and he was desperate. 

The pretty girl he had put up in the Traders Inn, Karen White, was way above him in status and skill level. He rather fancied her, but he wanted to *be* her. It put him in an awkward position of showing her the sights around the town, letting her in on the precious secrets Broadchurch residents tried to hide from police investigation. If the police didn't find it out, Broadchurch Echo usually did. This morning, Olly was almost buzzing with excitement as he handed Maggie her usual triple shot late, added in a dash of sugar and a small cake on the side.

"You're looking chipper, petal!" she commented with a big grin after taking a bite. "Oh, that's gorgeous. You'll give me diabetes at this rate. What's got ya so happy?" 

"I've been doing some...snooping," Olly confessed, bashful, hanging his head. "Over by the caravans. I thought- couldn't hurt, given how close they were to the cliffside, could it? The police haven't been over yet, there's got to be something there."

"And?" Maggie asked, shifting through a pile of files on her desk. "Find anything interesting?" 

"Very," said Olly, fishing his camera phone from his pocket. "Fact, I saw them the other day just down the market. I didn't think anything of it at the time. And then again, I saw them at the beach yesterday morning. Seemed to be strangers to each other. But Beth, she should be home with the family liaisons officer, shouldn't she?"

"One would hope so," Maggie lowered her glasses, her interest peaked. "Poor dear tried to come back in for work just last week- told her she weren't fit. No one's expectin' her back so soon, hey, what was she thinking? Has she found another hobby?" 

Olly slid open his phone and handed it to his boss, her eyes growing wide as he flicked through picture after picture. Beth, in running gear, working up a sweat at on the path by the cliffside. Beth, walking across the hill on the other end of town with shopping, pausing to examine a scarecrow. Beth, meeting a stranger in town, knocking into him and brushing his shoulder very *intimately.* Beth and the stranger the next morning, sitting together on a bench. His arm wrapped around her, her small body snuggling into his strong hold. He wasn't from town. Maggie Radcliffe knew everyone who walked these streets, and she'd never seen this dark skinned- was he Indian?- man before. She gave Olly's shoulder a squeeze.

"You've done well, petal," said Maggie. "I don't want you reporting on this yet, you hear me?"

"There's a 'but'," Olly started to grin as she paused and blew steam off her coffee cup.

"But," Maggie sighed. "I wouldn't protest for you to do a two page spread mock up. Proper notes in all the margins this time, and I *will* be checking, Olly. We're not The Sun over here, are we?"

"I'll get right on it," said Olly. "Why don't you want it published? This could get the town moving again, get people to come forward if they've seen anything suspicious or worrying."

"That's exactly why it'll remain on the docks," said Maggie, quite stern. "I know Broadchurch like the back of my hand, and if there's one thing this town isn't ready for, its the truth. Olly, do *not* expose this innocent man to the press. I'm keeping an eye on you."

"We don't know he *is* an innocent man," Olly muttered.

"I worry about you, Oliver," Maggie looked across at his head from her desk. "Sometimes I think you'd do better in criminology." 

But Olly didn't let the comment bother him. It was true, he did always have quite a morose interest in crime scenes, often dusting off the feelings of the real people who's families and lives were affected. But, he considered, that was the persona of a perfect journalist. No outside opinion or connections. Just reporting hard, cold facts. He allowed himself a small grin as he heard Maggie munch down the rest of her pastry, and started up on his spread. 

A picture of Beth Latimer and the stranger was uploaded from his phone to the main computer screen.  
.....  
Graham O' Brian was one townsperson that Maggie Radcliffe didn't know much about. He did well to keep his head down the majority of the time, listening in on important news as it went in and out the doors of the Trader's Hotel, picking up on bits of gossip about the Latimer murder. And most importantly, keeping a close eye on a silver fob watch that he'd hidden quite well between the bar and the tap nozzles for drinks. There was a secret awning that led to a small, hidden drawer, closed with a lock and key. Originally, this hid outstanding bar tabs when the bastards were too drunk to pay off their debt. But after a nice little chat with Becca Fisher, Graham had convinced her to move the checks to the safe in the check out till, then inserted the fob watch.

He didn't quite understand what it was, but he knew that it was extremely important. The watch was engraved with beautiful designs of circles, curved inside each other as if they were pictographs of a ghostly, lost language. This watch, she had said. This watch was her. It contained everything she had been inside, locked away. A secret kept from herself, under very strict orders. Yaz and Graham were the only people who knew- except perhaps this stranger. The Master. The Master seemed to know who she had been before, and seemed to be slowly figuring out what had happened to her. In a brief moment of panic, he wondered if he would need to find a better hiding spot for the watch. There was every chance that he could come down to the hotel bar and chat him up after a few drinks, asking cleverly placed questions that poor Graham would fumble and reveal delicate information accidentally.

Still, best not to worry about these things too much. He rather had more important things on his mind. His alarm blared at half seven, an hour that would usually be ungodly for him. He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes, his post at the Traders earning him a more decent hotel room than most. It came equipped with everything he would need, Becca Fisher supplying him with cheap pound store items biweekly. And his medications for cancer prevention, he kept them hidden away as much as the watch. Even Yaz didn't know about these, but he had a feeling the Doctor was starting to catch on before her dramatic change. Every morning since he had arrived in Broadchurch, he had set aside a few hours of his time to trek the hillside, looking for any hidden corner or secret hideaway, just out of sight from public eye.

It was around here, he knew. This was where the scarecrows lurked, gathered by the dozen. He knew their tricks and their secrets. He saw the lone scarecrow underneath the Master's window the previous night; they were getting restless. Bad news for the Doctor, bad news for the town. As he braced himself against the chilly morning wind, warmed only by the hot chocolate that spread through his veins. He breathed the cold air onto his gloved hands.  
.....  
"Threatening me in my own TARDIS?" the Doctor had said. "You'll have to do better than that. What's your game? Eternity traps have their name for a reason, I was so sure I made yours foolproof." 

"And yet, it took one greater than you," said the family, their lips moving at the same time. "Lord Rassillon himself set us free. Right at the end. Poor Mother, about to be swallowed by a black hole, stretched, screaming for eternity. Dear Sister, the mirror she was trapped in about to crack. And Father of Mine, the chains he was wrapped in about to burn through his skin to the bone. This, he said. This is penance for the Doctor. The destroyer of worlds- she must be stopped."

"Who're these people, Doctor?" asked Ryan. "Why've they come for you?"

A horror stricken look crossed the Doctor's face as she looked down at herself. Her body, twisted and changed beyond recognition since she'd last seen the Family of Blood. From a tall bloke that was skinny as a rat with sticky-uppy hair, to her awkward, fumbling and clumsy body, still new, still figuring herself out, a blonde bob of hair that stubbornly curled with humidity and when it was soaking wet. She refused to grow it out to accept the femininity she had been forced into, though she had a feeling she would look quite nice with longer hair. It was all well and good for Missy, but she used the status of being a woman to her advantage, even when the world was against her. Missy. The thought struck the Doctor's head and she sneakily moved the video screen to the other side of the console, keeping her eyes locked on the family as she hastily entered a message on the old typewriter. 

"What do you want?" the Doctor growled, her voice dropped, husky in volume. "From me. You leave them out of this and I'll do what ya like." 

"On the contrary," Father of Mine hissed. "You do what we want, or they die. This, Doctor, is the time for you to think. Think about the lives you've ended, the people you've sacrificed. The friends you've lost, the enemies you let burn. Hide yourself away. Find a nice little town, away from everything. Just to think. And rest assured, we will be watching." 

"How do I know you won't hurt any of the humans residing in the town?" the Doctor said firmly. "It's not like you've held much faith to your word before. No! NO! Come back!" 

"Ryan? RYAN!" Yaz was screaming. 

The Doctor whipped around, her levels of anxiety rising, her hands trembling in fear, her hearts beating wildly against her chest. Ryan had vanished. Yaz and Graham were rushing around the console room, checking everywhere for him. 

"It's no good, Doc, if he's in one of the other rooms, it'll take ages to find him," said Graham. 

"They've taken him," the Doctor breathed, looking down. "They've taken him and it's my fault. Listen to me. You *listen* to me, both of ya. We're dealing with some of the most dangerous creatures I've ever encountered. They're clever, ruthless and fast. Horrible combination. I'm locking myself away."   
.....  
Graham sighed and let out a breath of air as he wandered the hillside, the memories of the day everything had begun flooding his mind. Best not to remember too much around the scarecrows, he reasoned with himself. Who knows how much they could hear. He had never forgiven himself from the moment Ryan had vanished. It was the biggest mistake of his life, loosing his grandson. His grandson who was only just starting to accept him as part of the family. 

Of course he understood Ryan's hesitance in allowing him into his usual family structure. Grace had been the most important part of both their lives. The true love of Graham, the person who gave him the most hope through his cancer treatment, that there was a light at the end of it all. The most loving and caring grandmother Ryan could ask for, especially since the poor kid had lost his mother years back. Secretly, Graham knew that he saw the Doctor as a sort of parental figure. One to look up to and aspire to be. Someone who could drag him away from the problems of every day life. It was different for Graham. His family and work followed him into the TARDIS, followed him still with the nagging guilt that he had done exactly what he had promised Grace would never happen.

Not under his watch. He would never put Ryan in danger, never let him stray off the semi beaten path. Now, he was captured by blood sucking aliens, who were after the Doctor and hell bent on causing chaos to the town. Graham checked his watch, quarter to nine. He had been wandering on the cliffside for a good hour and a half. The wind was starting to get briskly cold, but he knew he was getting closer. He'd never found this section of the cliffs before, it was a good mile away from where the Latimer kid had been murdered, and tucked away in a nestle of trees. A scarecrow stood guard outside the small patch of forest. It would take Graham at least an hour to find his way back, but he could feel it. He was never closer to Ryan than he had been in this moment. He groaned as he ran a hand through his hair and eventually settled on leaving a beaten down skateboard as a trail marker. Graham took off his jacket and tied it around a tree, telling his future self to come back to this spot. 

Then, with a sigh of regret, he carried on. He had, unbenownst to him, found the right place. Ryan was deep in a cavern that the forest sealed off. If he had just gone a little further into the trees, past the scarecrow and avoided having it strangle him round the neck, he would have found a path leading down to a small stream. The stream caved off into a deep chunk of Earth, just off the side of the huge cliff. Impossible to find unless one knew what they were looking for, and impossible for whoever was inside to escape. Inside the cavern, green, alien light bounced off the walls, making it seem bigger and more threatening than it actually was. Stalagmites and stalactites dripped water from the stream outside, which gathered in little tubes and fed into some sort of generator. Ryan Sinclair was more tied up than he had ever been in his life. 

"Hey, any chance I can get food round here?" he asked the tall man in the mustache, who was standing guard over him with the sinister little girl. "The Doctor won't much like it if you leave me hungry." 

"Depends on your definition of food," said Father of Mine. "Daughter of Mine, go and fetch our dear guest the latest river salmon and cockroaches that inhabit this forest plane."

"Eh- no thanks, mate, I'll stay starved," Ryan flashed a nervous grin. 

"Going on two weeks now," Daughter of Mine commented, tilting her head. "I wonder how long it will take him to crack. The stupid ones never last long." 

"What's it to you, calling me stupid?" Ryan growled. "Could bowl ya over in that stream outside if I weren't tied up." 

"Father of Mine, Daughter of Mine!" the strict looking woman who Ryan hated rushed into the hiding place.

Strange, he thought. She only came calling to them if something was off in the town. A new sort of gossip, an event taking place, for last week she had reported the village fete taking place and they had hatched a cunning plan involving taking Ryan as a hostage. Father of Mine rolled his eyes as he went over to her, straightening himself up importantly.

"Yes, Mother of Mine?" he said. "Any news on the town of Broadchurch?" 

"A stranger," she wheezed, catching her breath. "A stranger arrived in the village yesterday. He knows who she is- the Doctor. I can smell it off him, he was chatting with the barman this morning. I saw them close together, hiding secrets." 

"Perhaps he is something to be worried about," Father of Mine raised an eyebrow. "What did he look like, this stranger?" 

"Tall, dark skinned, impeccable fashion sense," Mother of Mine replied. "Couldn't work out if he was Indian or from somewhere else entirely. Purple coat, bit of a beard." 

"The Master?" Ryan asked, all of them turning to him at the same time. "He's here too?" 

Ryan could tell the instant he opened his mouth that he had made a mistake. The three creepy aliens disguised as people approached him, as though trying to appear kind, but all the same giving him a horrible chill down his spine with their yellow eyes. It was Mother of Mine who spoke to him, trying her hardest to put on a kind, matronly appearance. 

"The Master?" she asked. "Tell me, sweetheart, what you know of the Master, and we may let that grandad of yours a bit closer to your hidey hole." 

"Graham's been looking for me?" Ryan asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Sorry. You ain't getting anything out of me less its for good reason."

"'Course he's been looking for you," Father of Mine said. "Every morning, every night. Every day coming a bit closer. Now, you tell us about the Master, and we'll let him discover us without incident or harm." 

Ryan looked around nervously, practically bursting at the seams with temptation. He knew the Master viewed him as small and insignificant, as he did all humans. He knew the Master saw him as something that could be squashed like a bug, or thrown out of a plane crashing through the air. But Ryan had put aside the fear of his dyspraxia and survived. He had piloted the plane to safety and managed to save Yaz and Graham. Not bad for a kid who couldn't ride a bike. But now, the kid from Sheffield held the fate of the Master in his hands, the safety of the Doctor. He stayed silent.

"Mother of Mine," said Father of Mine. "The Reverend of Broadchurch is hosting a memorial service for Danny this evening. I have a plan to flush the Doctor out. It involves Ryan Sinclair."  
......  
Olly was determined to discover something about the town of Broadchurch. Perhaps a bit too determined, but under the keen eyes of Maggie, there wasn't much he could do about this stranger in the village. Instead, he turned his attention to the local residents, a bit too close to home. He'd chosen quite a bad spot to confront the old man in public, as the pound store he ran was right next to the traders. But when Chloe Latimer's secret boyfriend had let him in on Jack's past, he got angry. He needed to expose something, needed something to get the gears of the town turning. He wanted justice for Danny Latimer as much as anyone, but justice to his own benefit. 

And he had dirt on Jack Marshall, oh yes he did. The problem was, how far did he go with this information and who did he release it to? He was already under strict orders from Maggie to keep the article about Beth and the stranger under wraps for the time being. So it was perhaps with this rage and impertinence that he stormed over to Jack's pound shop and confronted him outside, just as the sun was starting to set.

"Jack," he had said, not bothering to check who was around him. "Look, there's no easy way for me to ask this. Do you have a conviction for underage sex?"

"Where did you get this information?" Jack had growled. "You get this up at the Echo, did you? Had a good snoop through my past, did you? You think I had anything to do with the killing, you'll have to look somewhere else, boy. Get out of here. Get out of here, I don't want to see your face again!" 

Olly had reached for his camera, but Jack had pushed the smaller man away from him with surprising force. The reporter finally became aware of his surroundings, noticing that Nige Carter was looking in on their conversation from Mark Latimer's pluming van. He couldn't have overheard what Olly was saying, there was no possible way his hearing was that advanced. But Olly didn't at all like the look on Nige's face as he puffed wave a cigarette smoke into the air and leaned back against his window. Nor did he like the dark skinned stranger watching him from his hotel room, as though he had guessed what was going on without hearing a word. As Olly headed back to the Echo Office, buzzing with activity today, Maggie looked rather pleased about something. She turned her computer screen to face him, a picture of Susan, the old woman by the caravans, displayed across.

"Look here, petal, I've got something," she said. "I managed to trace down this photograph. Turns out, Susan who owns the cliffside hut may actually be someone else. She's had all sorts of allegations against her name. Family homicide."

"Jesus Christ, Maggie," said Olly, dropping his things on the desk as he clicked through the old news articles circa dated 2009, but unmistakably her. "You thought I'd do well in criminology, look at all the dirt you can dig up."

"I'm not proud of it," Maggie sighed. "It's insurance, that's all. In case she decides to come calling. That's what people do in face of a murder, Oliver. People get scared. They hide any and all secrets they think could connect them straight to a jail cell."

Olly breathed heavily, glancing down at his phone. A text from Karen White, the pretty girl he had put up at the Traders. 'Fancy showing me the sights of Broadchurch? Got a front page news spread on the Latimer family.' He sighed and sent back a reply, nervously twisting his phone around in his hand as Maggie glared beadily over his shoulder. Perhaps she was right. In face of a murder, trust no one. He was, as Maggie had said, not proud of his reply. But it got the job done. 

'Brill, I've got info on Beth. Juicy affair.'  
....  
Tensions were high in Broadchurch Police department, the race to catch the killer of Daniel Latimer coming to a climax. Police were desperate to expose someone, to at least show they were actually doing something and not sitting around on their arses all day. It was this perhaps that made DS Miller particularly on edge today, snapping at whoever she could find about her new clean desk policy, or to fetch her another coffee from the canteen. After Alec Hardy had thrown her to the lions, she had given a rather jumbled and nervous speech about how the resources to find Danny were missing, but they were there now, and they were the people the Greater London police had supplied for them. She couldn't remember half of what she had said, other than CCTV footage on the hut was a priority, as was finding Danny's skateboard. Then she'd snapped at Hardy again for good measure. 

It especially didn't help matters when poor old Jack Marshall who ran the pound shop down the petrol station was currently being ushered into the tape recording room, much against his will. Ellie couldn't hide at her desk anymore. She cleared her throat and made her way over to Hardy, holding a bag of cold fish and chips, as the Detective Inspector had a rather annoying habit of coming back to the station hours after he moaned about not having a proper lunch. It had been like this since day one, and the presentation of the traditional Scottish meal was met only with more moaning and complaints.

"Sir, I was thinking, it would be polite, wouldn't it, if we just had you round for dinner," she said, shuffling her feet nervously.

"Dinner?" Alec replied, raising an eyebrow. "Dinner, why would I want to do that?"

"I dunno, it's just what people do," Ellie replied sensibly. "Have their bosses round for dinner, even if said boss got the job they were promised when they took leave."

"Dinner?" Alec repeated, as if testing the word on his lips. "Dinner, with you and your husband?"

"I DON'T KNOW, JUST SAY YES," Ellie snapped, the tension of the morning finally sagging off her shoulders.

This was the last thing she wanted. Her boss, a quivering mess of anxiety, holding back presumably another unintended insult or complaint. To his credit, he put up with a lot of flack from her. As one of the senior members of the force, she earned a lot of respect from her fellow coworkers. She'd earned the right to snap every now and then, but as of late, her emotions were running haywire with him trying to mold her into something she very much did not want to be. 'You have to look at your community from the outside', he had said. Her husband was on the inside of the community. How could she ever take an outsiders perspective? And in her experience, knowing the local population had quite a tactical advantage in police inquiry. Present them with a friendly face and they'd never expect the worst.

"Yes," Hardy replied after a pause, making a very non pulsed expression.

"Thank you, bloody hell," Ellie rolled her eyes and moved to return to typing out reports on the crime scene. "Oh, funny thing, why've you got Jack Marshall in the questioning room? You can't seriously think he's done anything." 

"DI Khan will be taking this one with me," said Hardy, flashing the young detective a grin over the cubicles. This was new. "If she's up for the job, of course."

"Oh, will she?" said Ellie, unable to contain her surprise. "Right. Right, well you have fun with that. Let me know how you get on. I'm only a couple desks away if you want to shout the place down."

DI Khan looked quite flustered herself as Hardy led her to the questioning room, which was strikingly similar to a jail cell. Yaz, as DI Hardy knew full well, was neither a Detective Inspector nor an actual police officer, but an officer in training. It was his idea to lead her on to the investigation, giving her a little taste of what the job really entailed, while perhaps throwing her off guard and having her slip information about herself in the process. Why she was here, what her purpose in Broadchurch was, and why she seemed to have a very close relationship with Beth Latimer. The young woman offered him a nervous smile as she took the seat across the table from Jack, next to him and his beady side eyed glance. 

"Thank you very much for coming in, Jack, we're just going to ask you a couple of questions," Yaz said, a slight tremor in her voice. Good. "Is that alright?"

"Don't have much choice, do I?" Jack shrugged. "Suppose you'll want to know where I was and what I was doing the night Danny was killed?"

"It's not that we think you did it, we just need to eliminate possible suspects," Yaz flashed him a grin.

DI Hardy tried his very best not to smash his head on the table nor break the tape recorder. This girl had no training whatsoever. Fucking- police interrogation was one of the first courses he had passed to earn him his badge name and she didn't know not to reassure the witness? To his credit, Jack remained as uncomfortable as he had the moment he arrived at the station, no indication on his end that he would be getting off easy because of an inexperienced detective. DI Hardy gave Yaz the affirmative to start the tape, her fumbling hands setting the right buttons to record.

"Please state your name for the record," said Yaz, trying to put on a firm and commanding voice.

"Jack Marshall, 22 Northumberland Lane," said Jack in a monotone voice.

"Tell us about your registered underage sex convict," Yaz jumped right to the point, causing DI Hardy to rest his head in his hands. "Just want to establish the facts here." 

"Into the muck racking, are we?" Jack shifted in his chair, looking away from Yaz's stern expression. "It's nothing to do with Danny, nothing to do with anyone." 

"You were in the sea brigade?" Yaz looked over the notes she had meticulously taken down reviewing the case background, hoping DI Hardy would notice. "That requires CBD checks and cross references. How'd you manage gettin' in so easily?" 

"I'm not a sex offender, that conviction was false," Jack said, his voice slightly higher in tone. "I'm not on any register!" 

"It happened before the register came into being," said DI Hardy, ruffling a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you tell us about it?"

"You- you should've declared it!" Yaz exclaimed. "If it were me, I would. I'd want to get everything nice and easy out of the way." 

"And you think this is nice and easy, do you?" said Jack. "Put up a little sign, ex convict here, should I?" 

"Look, all we need to figure out is who killed Danny, Mr. Marshall," Yaz tried to gather some semblance, but it was too late.

"MILLER!!!" 

Yaz had been ushered out of the interrogation room quicker than she could blink, giving her less than a minute to realize the entire office had been staring at her. She glared them all down until every last one of them was focused on their work once more. She'd heard all the whispered rumors about her. About her and her training, how no one was sure where she came from until she showed up less than two weeks ago. She'd been made aware of a ludicrous tale that she'd had sex with the higher ups to get her to the position of Detective Inspector, which was something she had heard only on reality tv shows but never considered partaking in herself. 

No. This time, she got lucky. The ID card she had presented to the hiring officer had just the amount of detail to make it look believable, and she'd seen enough crime shows to get the basic attitude down. It was on the field that her experience lacked, and it showed. Especially now that she had been kicked out of her own interrogation, she doubted whether she would ever live down the shame. It was only a matter of time that her coworkers started heckling her for letting down the top Detective Inspector in Broadchurch, the man in charge of the investigation. They all aspired to be in his position, and it seemed like she had blown her chance. Yaz noticed that she was rather angrily scribbling down information on the caravans by the cliffside hut when DS Miller and DI Hardy emerged once again from the interrogation room some time after. She couldn't help wondering what was so amazing that DS Miller had done to convince DI Hardy she was worth working with.

"Caravans," DI Hardy's voice came from behind her, causing her to jump and whirl around in her seat.

"I-sorry?" Yaz stuttered. "What you on about, caravans? Usually after a leading officer denies another an investigation, they don't tend to speak to them, sir."

"And when has anything I've done been 'usual'?" 

Yaz had to admit he had a point. He wasn't 'usual' at all. In fact, Yaz suspected he was hiding a lot more than he was telling her, and knew that he sensed suspicion around her. There were times she'd come to her desk in the morning and catch him peaking through her files, as though looking for something. When he noticed her clock in, he made a hasty excuse of tidying up and shoved the paperwork back into place. But Yaz couldn't help noticing that every time he left, the files were a little bit closer to the center of her folders. Where her information was more thin and less thought out. She'd have to do upkeep on this if she stood any chance at keeping her job.

"You're in charge," said DI Hardy rather suddenly. "Of the caravans. I want a full and thorough scoop. Get at least ten to twelve officers on duty, I want house calls on all the suspects within a 20 mile area of the cliffside hut. Fingerprint matching, everything you've got." 

"You're putting *me* in charge?" Yaz asked, shocked. "After what you just did kicking me out of there?" 

"It says Detective Inspector on your ID card, doesn't it?" DI Hardy wiggled an eyebrow. "Be a shame to waste the opportunity to prove your potential." 

She hated to admit it, but Hardy was right. And Yaz loved being in charge, she felt a glowing sense of pride in her chest as she looked back over the case files much more meticulously now, carefully shelling different photos and information cards in their correct file folders. Little did she know, this was DI Hardy's way of testing Yaz. Seeing just how much she would rise to the case, and seeing just how far she would go to make ends meet. If he discovered a bit about the mysterious blonde woman she kept a photo of in the back of her office cubicle, well, that wouldn't be so bad either. 

DI Hardy took a sip of his steaming mug of coffee fresh off the broiler from Miller, satisfied that he had made Yasmin Khan feel at ease once more. The added bonus that came with it all he'd intentionally not made her aware of; anything she missed would be *her* responsibility. 

There were much more important things to be getting on with at the moment. He closed a file labeled 'John Smith' and headed for the door.  
......  
The Master had become very familiar with the town of Broadchurch over the past few days. And now, having secret affairs with Beth Latimer, he would be considered an enemy by the majority of the most loyal members. The last thing they would want, surely, was an affair with the mum of the murdered little boy. He always listened in on the buzz and gossip of the residents at a table he specifically picked out near the far end of the bar, and most unusually, it was not about him today. 

The Latimer Family was planning a reception at the church since the body of Danny was still considered evidence for the police case and they were unable to have a proper burial until the killer was found. This caused a pang of fury and regret in the Master's chest for Beth, who must have been up late most nights worrying for her little boy, unable to fully grasp the fact that he was truly dead and gone. At such a young age, it couldn't have been easy for her, even if she was simply a figment of the Doctor's imagination. He did wonder how much of the Doctor's own childhood played into creating Beth's personality. 

Mark was the last type of person he had ever imagined she'd go for, but perhaps it came with the character. Secretly, he was jealous of Mark. Secretly, he wished Mark was him, that he had become human with her to help her through the pain. She would be better off then, but would he? Had she thought this through with as much effort as he had? It was intense watching from the outside, part of a grander design of the time lord rather than being on the inner circle of her life. She had phoned him for help. Right at the end, before she had changed, he received possibly the strangest message on his mobile phone. Taking comfort in the fact she had remembered his number from the numerous times O had called her, from the nights they'd shared talking late into the night without question or comment on the other's activities, without judgement of the others feelings which were often just as intense as their own. And sometimes, a bit more activity than simply talking. 

The Master smirked as he remembered what he had gotten the Doctor to do, but none of it beat her kneeling for him in front of all those tiny, squishable humans. Here, he could start over again. Hurt her fresh and new. Become John Smith, pretend to fall in love. Then smash everything at the last second, just as O had done. Except...something was different this time. Something was wrong. His mind kept repeating the phrase, most annoyingly, not shutting up. *Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.* Perhaps by going to the memorial service today he would gain more answers, certainly more suspicion. The scarecrow outside the Master's window the previous night had moved once more, gone to hell knows where. He continued his daily walks, saddened when he didn't meet with Beth along the cliffside. He wondered if she regretted the previous night, if he had overstepped his boundaries. It had happened rather fast. As dusk set however, he picked out his most boring black suit and tie and wandered across the village square to the small gathering of Broadchurch residents. 

He spotted a lot of people he had already seen and come to know well. Becca Fisher, Graham, Yaz, the usual grunts down at the police station, the editor and avid young reporter who ran the local news here. And suddenly, there was chaos. Ellie Miller arrived with Beth Latimer's family, the children gathering together and the families closing in on them to protect them from the rain of camera flashes. Shit. He should have seen this coming, the case had made national news. Beth was complaining about press already finding their way into her rose garden, but now she wouldn't have a minute of privacy at all. It would be a miracle if he could steal her away from this for their date tonight. He gave a sigh and ran his hand through his beard as he stood at the back of the group, observing them all from a distance. Ellie Miller stood and showed her ID to the camera men.

"One step closer and I kick you all straight in the balls!" he heard her shout, allowing him a soft smirk. "You didn't hear me say that. Promise you I will!" 

It was the press who the Master approached first, waving everyone else through. He declined offers for an interview on 'the fascinating murder of a young boy.' Jesus Christ, these sharks had no backbone. 

"Please, show a bit of respect," he said in a smooth, calming voice, holding up his hands as though to say he was not a criminal. "This is a place of worship. We are gathered today to remember Daniel Latimer. It was tragic, him dying so young. I want you especially to show a bit of humiliation. *Try* the best you can, to leave Beth Latimer alone. Now I know she's an English Rose, she'd look perfect for a front page, not denying that. But allow her to grieve. *Then* have all the interviews you want. By the way- can't hurt to check out Jack Marshall." 

It was then when the press backed away and the Master was congratulating himself that he saw something very strange in the back of the church graveyard. Something that seemed to catch his eye, and only his. For he was sure that if someone else had spotted it, they would have done something and shut the funeral service down. Not one, but four scarecrows were standing at the back of the tombstones, their large, toothless grins turning to face him as they slowly rotated on the spot. The Master glanced over his shoulder across the rows of graves one last time before heading into the church, ignoring the distant cries of a teenage boy. 

Cruel? Perhaps. Sadistic? Definitely. The Master was never one for sympathy or pity, especially when it involved the Doctor's companions. Ryan, he knew the boy was called. He was signaling to the Master silently across the graves as though trying to wave a flagship down at sea. But he was also clutched by the arm of a small girl, watched over by a strict woman from a distance. The Master sniffed the air, time was wrong. *That's* what kept invading his mind. Time disturbance. He felt stupid that he hadn't guessed it sooner than this, but sometimes it took actually sniffing out the threat to determine what should be done. As the Master entered the church, he allowed a silent grin to cross his face. 

He had a plan.

......  
The bar at the local hotel was packed with chattering and yelling Broadchurch members after the service, Graham and Yaz were both preoccupied with chatting up the locals and filling bar tabs. Graham had a distant look in his eyes, as though he were reminiscing on things he should probably keep secret. And why did he keep looking at the tiny drawer underneath the bar before looking away instantly, trying to hide something. It was then that everything clicked for the Master. The fob watch, the scarecrows. It was the Family of Blood. They had found the Doctor again, and this time they were hell bent on revenge for what had been done to them. 

The Master felt very, very stupid. He had just handed over Jack Marshall for free. Graham was absentmindedly cleaning a glass before wiping off the nozzle taps of the bar for the tenth time. Making a mistake, he opened the drawer a tiny crack just to see the silver of the fob watch, unkowingly sending a golden wisp across the bar, and causing the stranger John Smith to sniff the air.   
......

"So- we watch you, make sure you don't find out who you are, and protect you if anyone tries to attack?" Yaz asked.

The Doctor was situating herself on the steps, her leg out as she kept the other crouched behind her, her delicate hands twisting and turning each and every wire into the arch to make sure the material was fine tuned to the extreme.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice more breathy than usual.

"How do we know when we're supposed to wake you up?" Graham asked. "What if you *don't* want to wake up?"

"I will!" the Doctor only exclaimed when she saw Yaz looking extremely worried at the prospect. "'Course I will. Can you imagine me in a human life? Rubbish. Won't last two weeks on me own. I've set the controls for Broadchurch. You mustn't let me hurt anyone. You don't let me know who I am until you're absolutely sure everythin's safe. And the most important thing. You *do NOT* let me fall in love. You'll know when it's time. Good luck, fam."

The Doctor took a deep breath, feeling the air push through her lungs and past her thudding hearts, her hands shaking as she lowered the chameleon arch onto her head. Last time she had used this, it had been a disaster. A human called Joan had entranced her fancy when she was a man, she had kept her real life hidden away in a Journal of Impossible Things. Frozen in time in the second world war. Not the friendliest of places to be, and poor Martha for having to deal with her lovesick, blind self. No. Never again, that was the added instruction. Most important. Vital. Integral. 

How many more adjectives could she come up with? She'd be amazin' at Scrabble if she ever found the time- no, she was rambling again. Always talking to herself, always wanting a way to comfort herself before everything changed. She felt the breath of air leave her parted lips, looking into the calm of Yaz's eyes, then took the ultimate leap of faith and switched on the machine. Yaz almost ran to switch the machine off, only held back by Graham. Intense, blue flashes of electricity surged through the wires. The Doctor's cries and exclamations of pain alone made her tense in fear and hide behind her hands. 

It wasn't pleasant to watch, the Doctor was screaming now, her hands clutching the arch as it rewrote strands of her DNA, her screams only increasing in intensity as her hearts melded into one, as her hair turned from bottle blonde to a natural brown, falling at her sides. She looked aged, human. Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, the Doctor fell silent. Yaz reached forward with trembling hands and unhooked the machine, only to have the Doctor collapse at her feet.   
.....  
The Master slid over to the bar, taking a seat on one of the stupid little bar stools, moving over his whiskey shot. He put on a very low, very threatening voice and whispered across the table to Graham's ear.

"Don't bother trying to hide the Doctor's fob watch in that little drawer there," the Master said. "If I've guessed it's there, and I've only been here for two days, you don't know who else has noticed. The family are hiding here, very angry and very afraid. She's phoned *me* the last of her people, for help. If you understand me, look very very scared and give me the watch."

"I- I don't-" Graham stuttered, shocked.

The Master sighed. He didn't want it to come to this. He reached into his pocket and felt the handle of his tissue compressor, showing Graham just enough of the hilt so it was a known threat.

"Give me...the watch," the Master repeated, deadly now. "Or I turn everyone in this bar into a tiny, human doll." 

Before Graham could respond, Beth managed to slip away from Mark for a split second, sliding next to the Master at the bar. She flashed him a brilliant, worrying smile. Grimacing at who she assumed was nothing more than the local bartender.

"Hey," she whispered. "Can I steal ya for a sec? I've literally on'y got moments and it's really important. Sorreh- do ya mind?"

Graham gave an extremely forced smile and muttered something about going to wipe off the other bar counters from the latest crowd. Beth really did seem bothered. It didn't seem like an issue as small as the press, nor as big as them sleeping together. In fact, she seemed to be looking for something from him. Advice, maybe? A confirmation? He couldn't read the worried look in her eyes, and he never liked this aspect of the Doctor. 

"You alright?" the Master asked. "I saw the press giving you hell back there at the church. Tried the best I could to give them something else to worry 'bout." 

"That's kind of ya," Beth gave him a nervous, flickering smile, her hand shaking as she held her wine. "Shouldn't be havin' this really. Not with- well."

"Beth?" he raised an eyebrow, why wouldn't she look at him? "Beth, listen, I've wanted to ask you all day. Was last night alright? Was it too much? You can say yes, I don't mind. This is about you, lovely." 

"No, no! It's not at all about last night," Beth rambled nervously. "Well, it is. But it's complicated. I jus'- I need to tell ya." 

"What is it, darling?" the Master asked gently. "You can trust me."

The hilt of his tissue compression poking out of his jacket would suggest otherwise, as would his ignoring Ryan, snooping on Yaz and threatening Graham. But her worrying hazel eyes met his dark, chocolate brown. And he melted under her gaze.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered.

Shit.   
.......


	4. Chapter Four: Journal of Impossible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master and Beth reconnect after he saves Chloe from a tragic accident. Beth finally shows him what's inside her Journal of Impossible Things and the two start to fall in love. But it's not what the Master wants- he wants the Doctor. Beth is determined to keep him a part of her fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that the fam and the Master know who Beth is but the Doctor has no idea. Could another Doctor be hiding amongst the Broadchurch residents? What are DI Hardy's intentions and why is he harassing Yaz?  
> *Soft smut near the end*

Chapter Four: Journal of Impossible Things

The Master had been in Broadchurch for quite some time, and was beginning to become extremely familiar with the locals. They no longer ran to the other side of the street when they saw him walking along, for example. The first couple days had been hell, no sign of a familiar face bar Becca Fisher and the occasional 'alright, cockle' from Graham. Tensions were still high between Beth and her family. 

She was spending a lot of time around them lately, and the Master couldn't blame her. He kept well clear most of the time, and had even chosen a different path on the cliffside from their favorite bench in attempt to distance himself from her. The last thing he had expected was that she would become pregnant. In fact, he knew it was impossible for her to be so. He missed meeting her on the bench, they had talked about things he knew The Doctor would never ever discuss with him.

What it was like to be human. What it was like to *love.* Family struggles, taking care of a rebellious teenager. The Master often smirked whenever this came up, Theta Sigma had been one of, if not the most rebellious teenager on Gallifrey. She had often asked him about his home, Beth. And he replied as though it were in Ireland, as it seemed to be an Irish name to her. The Master couldn't help but think even though they were both faking their own identities to each other- there was a spark of *something* growing between them. It sounded incredibly cheesy in his mind, and he had to keep reminding himself that Beth Latimer was *not* the Doctor. The exact opposite of the Doctor, everything she had sworn against becoming.

Don't get attached. Never have human feelings. And most importantly, don't fall in love. Now it seemed she had broken all the rules that she so heavily resided by, and he had no doubt that her soul would be shattered when her human fairytale inevitably came to its end. He worried seeing her with enough wine to knock herself out for a day or so, as if she were drinking to cope with these new emotions flooding her brain. To cope with being able to actually, properly being able to feel for the first time in her life. He knew she couldn't be pregnant, the maths and numbers didn't work out right. But still, he worried. That was a new emotion for him, worry for another soul besides himself. And then there was the journal. 

Journal of Impossible Things, she had called it. Gods, he would kill for another look inside. Just a peak. He would never be able to read her stories as the Master, he knew that. The journal offered him a unique possibility that had never occurred to either of them before. A chance for the Master to look inside her mind. To see how she saw things. Her lonely universe. He kept thinking of the sketch of his past self. The haunted Victorian woman, glassy eyes as though she were about to cry, the mounds of curly hair horribly unkept, piled in mounds on top her head. Sickly, alone. Was that really how she saw him then? He was momentarily distracted from his thoughts by a sudden, piercing scream, high pitched, very very afraid, from the top of the cliffside.

Shit. Shit shit shit. The Master found his feet moving into a run, on their own accord. While his better judgement told him to stay away, this was not something that needed his attention, a quick glance around him confirmed that there was no other person in the general area who could perhaps deal with this problem as urgently as he could. The last thing Broadchurch needed was another scandal. He ran to the cliffside as fast as he could, where a thousands of years ago, a pile of molten rocks had slowly become slippery black basalt that stayed there for centuries to come. He had often passed by it in his walks to meet Beth and wondered why there was no handrail in this area, no guard to block pedestrians from falling over the edge. As the Master neared the cliffside, he stayed a good few feet away, his hands dancing nervously over his phone.

"Anyone there?" he called. "I heard the scream, are you alright?" 

"I've fallen off the edge!" a teenage girl screamed back. "I was running, just running like mum and I fell! Help me, oh god help! I can't go like Danny!" 

Shit. Chloe Latimer was hanging very precariously off the cliffside, her tiny hand grasped around the small tree branch that had broken her fall. She rested just above an awning leading into the cliffside rocks, her feet dangling into the 100 foot drop beneath her. The Master glanced around, searching wildly for any kind of coastguard, but there was still no one for miles around. Right. One more look round, the Master reached into his pocket and grabbed a golden piece of machinery. Shaped rather like a radio, but much stranger. Like a radio tuned to three different frequencies, a huge button on the top.

"Trust me, alright?" the Master shouted down to the terrified girl. "I'm going to get you out of this, but I need your help. You're going to have to jump, do you understand?" 

"Jump and crack my head on the rocks just like my brother, is that what you want?" Chloe exclaimed, overcome by fear. "Oh my god, you're the one who killed him and now you've come to finish me off!" 

"Oh, for Christ sakes, use your bloody head!" the Master let a growl slip, showing just how serious he was about saving the girl. "If I were the killer, surely I would let you fall to your death long before now. Now, I'm pressing a lot of complicated buttons on my little device, don't bother asking what they do. Once you see I've pressed them all, you lift with your feet and jump. I'll catch you."

The girl looked behind her to certain death, one slip and it would be over. Her long blonde hair whipped around her face in the harsh winds, her feet kicking together every few seconds. Her outfit was covered in mud and dirt, the underside of her jeans ripped from the straggly branch.

"Chloe!" the Master shouted, extending a hand and flattening himself across the ground. "I'll catch you." 

Chloe finally, finally met his gaze and nodded. The Master breathed a sigh of relief and entered the coordinates from her position on the cliff into his device, then the position of where he wanted her to teleport and land safely on her feet. Or perhaps crumpled in a ball. He did always enjoy the soft thud that emitted when humans observed the force of gravity. The girl squeezed her eyes shut and screamed- bloody hell, did teenage girls always sound so dramatic? He wondered briefly if he was like this when he was younger and more naive. 

The Master was ready for when her hand released the branch, as soon as she let go the skinny object broke off with her. His fingers danced over the keyboard, shaking with newfound anxiety- this was a human life in his hands. A human life that he would very much enjoy ending on his own accord, oh how he loved ridding the world of Chloe Latimers. But this was someone Beth cared about. Someone Beth loved. Any favor he could do her would put him in the good deeds in her book. And in this moment, John Smith would become a rather dashing prince coming to the rescue. Gods, he hated the dialog that flowed through his mind when he thought of Beth. Right now there were more important things. 

He pressed the huge golden button on top of his device and Chloe Latimer was suddenly frozen in mid air in a rather grotesque way. Her head flopped down to her shoulder, her limbs sticking out at awkward angles. Another strange thing that was absolutely not from this world-a ghostly blue and white teleport beam formed over Chloe's body, and at another press of the Master's device, Chloe vanished in thin air, reappearing on the cliffside in front of him. ...Thud. Ah, there it was, so satisfying. He offered her a hand, a tall, suave, mysterious stranger, which she accepted and backed away.

"I don't know who ya are," she said nervously. "Coz you're not *really* called John Smith. I've seen the way mum talks about you, she fawns over you. God, it's like she's my age all over again."

"Lovesick teenager?" the Master offered.

"Exactly," said Chloe, the Master observing a gentle smirk across her lips. "But- thanks. I'll owe you one." 

"Ah, that was a smirk there," he teased. "A smirk if I ever saw one, maybe you are warming up to me." 

"Don't spare your blushes, mate," she winked. 

A scream racked the quiet seaside as the Master turned around, startled, then immediately rolled his eyes. Beth Latimer was careening down the hillside in a ball of red dress and wild brown hair, legs carrying her perhaps faster than she realized. She flung herself around her daughter, anxiously stroking her hair and examining her torn and ripped clothing in a stream of mumbled dialog, Chloe continually trying to shove her away.

"Oh gods- gods, Chloe, I heard y' scream and I were on the other side of the hill!" Beth exclaimed. "I knew it, I knew it were a bad idea to go separate ways. I didn't come coz- well, I didn't want to think the worst, and then- then I didn't hear anythin' else and oh, gods. Chloe Latimer, you never do that ever again, you hear me? Oh, you've gone and soiled that nice shirt!" 

"Muuum," Chloe whined as Beth brushed dirt off her top. "It's fine, I'm save. Mr. Smith was walking along and he found me. Good job he did too." 

"Thought it was the right thing to do," the Master brushed off the heroic deed with a small shrug of his shoulders. 

He didn't expect Beth to run over to him after a glance at her daughter and her affirming nod. She flung her arms around him and he stumbled back a few paces, giving a soft chuckle as his hands gently ran across her back. 

"John," said Beth, her breath airy and light. "John, I don't know what you did or how ya did it, but you saved my child. I can' ever repay you." 

"Ya can, actually," the Master teased.

"Oh?" Beth tilted her head curiously, pulling away from his hold. "An' hows that?"

"Come to the village fete with me?" 

Beth's eyes grew wide, but she turned to Chloe to ask for permission. Chloe rolled her eyes and nudged her mother in the ribs.

"Say yes, idiot!" she grinned.

"Chloe Latimer, do not call your mum an idiot," Beth said with an airy tone to her voice. "Alrigh'. I'll come with ya. But not as a date- as a plus one."

"Yes, that's entirely different," the Master found himself giving a small grin.

Beth offered him a tiny smile, a flash of that *glow* in her eyes when she found herself around him. It always happened in the most minute way, the Master could have sworn it were sunlight bouncing off her eyelashes. But it seemed to come from inside the hazel iris, pooling from her inner time lord mind. Stop, he ordered himself. Don't get too carried away. If Beth is falling in love, that's more than enough. No need to complicate matters. It's only going to break things more in the end.

"Say," she muttered. "Come round this afternoon? I'll tell mum to bugger off and Mark's off at work again. Just have to avoid the beady eyes of the liaisons officer." 

"I'll have to steal ya behind the rosebushes," the Master winked.

"Cheeky!" Beth exclaimed. "That's a yes, then?"

The Master nodded, finally, a smile spreading across his face. His long purple jacket billowed in the wind as he watched the pair heading for home, the home the Doctor had created for herself, and the home that would be destroyed so very soon. Was what he was doing risky? Obviously. Did risk ever stop him before when it came to his love for the Doctor? God no. With a newfound spring in his step, he headed back up the hillside in the opposite direction towards the hotel, not knowing what awaited him on the other side.

........

Before the Master could even step foot into the bar to grab himself a quick lunch, he rolled his eyes when he saw what, or rather who was waiting for him at one of the small round tables near the back of the room. He drew in a sniff of air, his neck cracking slightly as his senses adjusted to his surroundings. Something had changed, something that would play to his advantage in the long run. But he could sense it, far beyond the hillsides of Broadchurch, evil was stirring. A storm was approaching. The Doctor and the monsters, you could never have one without the other. He was certain the Doctor had faced these scarecrows before, and he knew they were part of a grander design. A design that would very soon involve him once they had worked out that he was in fact, not human at all. Best to have all ground forces on defense strategy before the imminent attack. 

Reluctant though he was, the Master made a big show of a sigh and cracking his shoulders as though Graham had caused him great pain simply by his presence. He raised an eyebrow however when Graham moved his hands and revealed the golden pocket watch the Master had spotted in the secret bar awning a couple of days ago. He instantly recognized the writing on the front as Gallifreyan, it was a simple confirmation to him what the Doctor had done. He tilted his head in acknowledgement. 

"She's become human," the Master said simply. "And you didn't give me the watch yesterday when I threatened half the pathetic little humans in this bar because-?"

"Because, sunshine, I still ain't sure whether or not you're the right person to trust with this watch," Graham replied, shrewd as ever. "Now the Doc reckons you are. Went on and on about some lost friendship and morals. But here's the thing, after the stunt you pulled with us on the plane and sendin' us on the run, I don't think you've changed a bit. I've been in contact with some of her past companions. Martha Jones? She remembers Harold Saxon quite well and what he did to her family. She told me one thing, do not trust the Master with the watch."

"Well, she would say that," the Master rolled his eyes. "It may have passed your notice, but I happen to be the last time lord besides herself. And- as much as it *pains* me to admit, myself and the Doctor share- certain similarities. She can have the pompous arrogance of the time lords, that's all hers. Disgusting animals. If you had a clue of what they did to me- but I don't want to trouble your little head, I can see its overworking itself already. Now. The way I see it, there's two potential outcomes here. You tell me why the Doctor became human, every detail, mind, why she thought it was necessary, what she's hiding from and just how much danger the town is in. I know the girl won't tell me anything, so I've *reluctantly* settled with you. And if I'm satisfied with your answer, I may choose to take the watch off your hands, or you'll give it to me and save this lovely little town from destruction." 

Graham sighed and sat back in his chair, which in the Master's mind was an incredibly stupid move, as it left the watch open on the table in plain view. He watched as the old man blew a bit of gathered steam off the edge of his coffee mug, offering for him to drink some of the glass he had presumably set out with a slight incline of his head. The Master refused, he never touched drinks made for him by someone else. Quite understandable given what the time lords had subjected him to in the past. It was curious, this man had to have been older than all other companions she had travelled with. Which meant there had to be someone younger, someone he wanted to protect. 

"You're in love with her, ain't ya?" Graham asked, the question completely out of the blue.

"What?" the Master sputtered, grasping for some sense of humility. "What the devil gives you that idea?" 

"Because you wouldn't be here lookin' out for her if you didn't care about her," said Graham. "Not sayin' right out love, it's a tricky thing, innit? But that relationship the two of you have, the way she talks about ya. I can see it in her eyes. The Family of Blood have taken my grandson, Ryan. Not really my grandson, mind. Second marriages an' all that, like I say, it's tricky. An' I don't think you'd much want to hear about it. But if you have any semblance of care for her, if you care enough to track her down to this remote seaside town and stay when half them locals hate you. I'll make you a bargain. You find where my grandson is, the exact location, I've had enough of walkin' down the seaside every morning and you're there often enough. You find Ryan for me, and I'll give you the watch now."

"Now?" the Master raised an eyebrow, it seemed too good to be true. "Why not wait until I come through with my side of the deal?"

"Because men like you need an incentive to help someone with decent human kindness," Graham said. "An- to tell you the truth, that watch gives me the creeps. It's always whispering at me- glowing. It's not meant for a human." 

The Master gave a tiny smirk, of course it wasn't meant for humans. Perhaps this Graham character wasn't as dull as he seemed. Could potentially come in useful for later plans, he made a mental note. The Master reached for the watch with trembling fingers, his tan colored hands finally closing around the gleaming silver surface. Funny, the metal of the watch wasn't cold to him. It seemed to feel quite at home in his hands, as though he was meant to hold it. His finger traced the long dead Gallifreyan circles, god he wished he knew what they said. So long since he'd been in the ancient tome section of Gallifrey, not that he had any desire to since he had burnt it all to the ground. All gone now. All hope of translation lost. 

But still, the warm glow it sent through his body, spreading from the tips of his fingers to his temple, it felt as though the watch had found a new home. This, he thought. This was the Doctor's inner conscience, her secrets she had kept from herself. His hands traced the latch, only to be cut off by a soft whisper from the voice he longed to hear. The voice he associated with beautiful golden hair and fair skin, with ridiculous rainbow shirts and raincoats. 'Not yet. It's not time. Keep me safe, keep me hidden. They're always watching.' The Master shook himself, realizing he had gone silent for a few seconds. 

"I'll find your grandson," the Master said, getting up to leave and pocketing the watch. "Graham- thank you."

Graham seemed taken aback to hear these words from the Master, but he simply nodded, not wishing to complicate matters. In this moment, the Master had never appreciated one of the Doctor's companions more. It was incredibly rare for him to show any kind of gratitude, in fact he couldn't remember the last time he'd used those words. But now, hearing the Doctor's voice after such a long time of silence, after a rushed voice call. He had memorized it, her sweet voice begging him for help.  
'Master, I dunno if ya've still got this number but I need your help. Gods, please don't make me regret sayin' that. Y' already made me kneel, right? That's enough revenge for a century. I'm using the telepathic controls to contact ya, but it's urgent. I need a fellow time lord for protection. The Family of Blood have found me and they are ruthless, terrible creatures. I used a human last time and it almost destroyed everything. You'll know me when ya see me, I hope. Jus' keep m' safe. Please. Recording ends.' 

The Master heaved a deep breath as he returned to his hotel room, the fresh air of the sea washing through his lungs. He pushed aside the curtain he had taken to keeping shut at all times to block out the horrible black eyes of the scarecrow, which sure enough, never relented. He always checked the number of orange pips on the breakfast tray, which he had made a lame excuse to Becca to keep out for him. 4 pips left. As he traced the watch and sat on his bed, he couldn't help but dread the future when he went to Beth Latimer's house. When he came back, he was almost sure it would be down to three. Counting down the time until the Family found him in her place. It wasn't a call for help the Doctor had sent him.

It was an execution sentence. 

......

Yasmin Khan had never felt more overworked in her entire life. True, she was a rank above her regular station, quite a few ranks above if she was being entirely honest. She was never quite prepared for the mountain of work that awaited Detective Inspectors. Signing off crime scene reports, checking over CCTV footage until she fell asleep, then rewinding the tape in case she missed anything. Broadchurch Police Department had almost become a second home to her with how much she found herself there. At times, she envied Graham in his position at the Traders, who's only extra work was to keep an eye on the Master and shift through the endless small town gossip for useful bits of information. 

DI Hardy seemed to be giving her more and more work by the day, as if he were testing her nerve to see how long she could go before she cracked. But he didn't know the extent of her determination, and how much strength it gave her *not* to crack. She worked even longer hours, refreshed only by trips to the coffee machine where he would find her and give her more to do from his never ending list of things. Yaz was growing bags under her eyes from what little sleep she got. She couldn't hold back a sigh as once again he approached her desk in the middle of marking over prints from the Latimer Family.

"You've almost finished with that, good work," said Di Hardy, and Yaz couldn't help the glowing sense of pride rise within her. "Just wondering- the skateboard, Susan Wright, found anything on that yet?"

"Oh, God, sir, I forgot," Yaz groaned. "It's all this extra paperwork, I'm trying the best I can to complete everything to the best standard, I know that's how you like it."

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, you're not going quite quick enough," DI Hardy said shrewdly. "Best to pick up the pace a little. I'm giving you a little extra something, if you don't mind." 

"Sir, I'm overworked as it is, these papers keep piling up and-" Yaz tried to say.

"Very good, I knew you wouldn't have a problem with it," DI Hardy smiled, to which she resounded with a sigh. "We've just had a call in from some bloke called John Smith. He seems to think that we're going to find Jack Marshall dead if we don't do something quick enough, and I hate to admit that he's right, but he is. If not by his own hand, I reckon the mob will turn murderous very very soon. That's the last thing we need right now."

"Right then," said Yaz with a fake cheery smile. "What do you need me to do about it?"

"I want you to start outlining a case for his innocence," said DI Hardy. "If he has any chance of living in Broadchurch peacefully, he needs the police by his side. This is the best we can do for him. It's up to them whether or not they listen. And while you're here, do go have a nose around the caravans, would you? I think Susan just got back from lunch." 

"I- yeah, of course," Yaz replied, stumbling over her words as she frantically wrote everything down that spilled from his tongue. "Heading- heading right over to the caravans now." 

Yaz quickly grabbed her yellow and white police jacket from the coat rack, throwing it over her shoulders to give a sense of authority. She adjusted her striped cap, threw her hair in a quick and messy bun, grabbed her satchel and rushed from her desk. She was forgetting something, wasn't she? Yaz gave a yelp of pain as her tired legs bowled straight into her neighbors desk cubicle. Yaz groaned as a file folder fell off the desk and exploded, hundreds of papers lying disorganized on the floor. 

"Sorry! Oh, god, I'm sorry!" Yaz exclaimed.

"Car keys," DI Hardy reminded her, his voice laced with deprecation. "You sure you're alright with this? It is a lot for someone even at your skill level."

"Car keys!" Yaz panted, rushing back to her desk and grabbing the hundreds of silver ringed standard police keys. "Knew there was something. No, no! I'm fine. Don't mind me. Absolutely fine, couldn't be better." 

"And I want you back by six," DI Hardy said as he sat down to mark papers. "I've got something to discuss with you." 

Gulp. Yaz flashed him a nervous smile but nodded, taking a deep breath before heading off to the caravans. She barely knew DI Hardy. What on Earth would he want to speak to her about? What had she done wrong?

.......

Yaz had never considered women like Susan a threat. She knew how to play the field to get them seeing her side, and she did it very sneakily, quite sly. The goal was to make them feel trusted. That they had a friend on their side who they could go to in times of crisis. These women acted tough, said they knew powerful people and said they could do all sorts of things to others who had wronged them. But this was their shield, their shield to mask how timid they really were. And she knew, deep down, Susan could do something about the poor Latimer boy's death. She *knew* something. It would just take the right kind of questioning to get it out of her, sooner rather than later. 

Yaz shivered in the cold, her lack of sleep catching up to her as she knocked into a base of flowers outside the caravan park. What could DI Hardy want with her? The question bounced around in her mind. It was odd, wasn't it? She had never met him before and yet he seemed so...familiar. Like a friend from grade school she had forgotten. Now that would be too much of a coincidence. She gave a gentle smile and shook her head, she was thinking about him too much. He was demanding so much from her already, she needed a break from him. Yaz looked at the scribbled address on the sheet of paper she clutched in her hand and weaved in and out of the caravans to find number 12. She knocked on the door, then not hearing anything, tried again.

Finally, a third try, the woman called Susan poked her head out, opening the door with the tiniest possible peak into her living space. She seemed to shrivel up as soon as she saw that Yaz was a cop, to which Yaz hastily whipped off her hat. She couldn't do anything about her jacket, but it was her goal to at least make the poor woman feel comfortable with her.

"What'chu want?" Susan asked, very Welsh. "We've had em coppers comin' round day and night. I keep tellin' em, nothin' to see here." 

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Yaz replied with a kind smile. "I was just coming on a routine check- we like to keep track of how people are doing round here. It must get awful lonely." 

"I like it better that way," Susan replied curtly. "If you've got nothin' to do here, piss off. You'll be better for it."

"Nah, come on," Yaz insisted. "Ya look like you could use some company. Even if its from a 'copper.' Least its an offer, yeah?" 

Just as she could tell Susan was about to slam the door on her, a very large, very friendly dog bounded out the door and slammed the glass out of her tight grip. Susan stood open mouthed in the doorway, about to shout something at the dog when he ran over to Yaz, his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging frantically. Yaz laughed, her first real laugh in days, as the dog flipped over on his back to give her access to rub his tummy. Yaz obliged after a quick look at Susan, a smile spreading across her face.

"He likes you," Susan commented, her voice distinctly less stressed. "Com' in then. I'll put the kettle on. Not often friendly types come round."

Yaz barely concealed her grin, step one complete. She made sure her friendly appearance kept up, placing her hat on the chair as she entered the caravan after Susan. It was definitley well lived in; as though she had been there for years. Most of her life, it seemed. Piles of old clothes and anitique treasures others would consider garbage were laid on one half of the old and battered sofa, while a well worn table filled much of the center room. A rickety stove and wood oven took up half the kitchen, a washer and a loo on the other side. And a tiny bed finished off the space next to the opposite walls, allowing space for old novels. 

"Cozy," Yaz commented. 'You've been here a long time?"

"Longer than you," Susan replied, couldn't argue there. "Most of me life, 15 years. You're an odd one. You ain't connected with the regular police folk, I know them inside and out. Where do you come from?" 

"Oh, I'm just a traveller," said Yaz. "Sort of from abroad. Don't tell anyone." 

"Sneakin' in your own way, did ya?" Susan chuckled, lighting the stove for the kettle. "I thought 'bout that a few times. Create a new name, start a new life." 

"What's wrong with the one you've got here?" Yaz asked conversationally.

"All routine, innit?" Susan replied. "Day in day out. Same old thing. Until that boy- horrible what happened. The poor parents."

"Yeah," said Yaz with a soft sigh. "Beth's not coping well. None of them are. It pains me to see them like that- they used to be so lovely. Murder, it can tear a family apart." 

"Don't it just," Susan agreed. "Ah- sugar. It's over in the other cabinet. Here, lemme grab some, you stay put and give 'im extra pats so he don't bug me at night." 

Yaz gave Susan another grin as the dog rubbed against her hand, quite a needy creature. He developed a routine of bonking against Yaz's hand whenever she stopped her scratches behind his ear, his tail wagging frantically on the floor as though nothing pleased him more. Yaz chuckled, the grin fading from her face as Susan's footsteps faded. Now was her chance. She glanced over her shoulder once, twice, and only when she heard the glass door close did she leave her seat. She scanned the room once again, looking for anything out of place that could tell her more about Susan. A seasoned world traveller, that was one thing. Cabinets and drawers full of bus tickets, lost receipts falling into the void for Chinese takeout, and a closet full of jackets for every season...

Yaz was about to close the door when what she saw made her stop dead. A yellow skateboard lay against the wooden cabinet. Yellow with green stripes, dirtied with beach sand. The exact description of Danny Latimer's skateboard. Matching every police file photo she had meticulously marked off. Yaz's heart beat quickened as she realized the danger she had put herself in. According to Ellie and Hardy, whoever was the murderer most likely had the skateboard, and she had walked right into the nest for a cup of tea. Her hand was shaking as the rest of the world disappeared around her and she reached into the cupboard, her fingers inches from grabbing the board.

"What'chu doing in there!?" 

Shit. Fuck. Yaz's heart stopped. She quickly straightened up, not hearing the glass door slam closed upon Susan's reentry. Susan was carrying a small tin of sugar in one hand, a dirtied shovel in the other. It was incredible just how quickly the calm and collected look on Susan's face changed to fury and rage. Yaz had frequently seen the look cross her sister or her mum, but this was so much different. This had- intent. Anger. A thousand years of anger bottled up. She backed away, hitting the couch behind her as Susan advanced towards her in the caravan, holding the shovel higher and dropping the sugar.

"I- I'm so sorry," Yaz stuttered. "I had dropped my car keys and they went- between the floor."

"So you needed to open the cupboard with Danny's skateboard?" Susan growled. "I knew it, I knew this weren't a routine call."

"Why have you got Danny's skateboard, Susan?" Yaz asked, a very calm, quiet voice. "Coz- from what I understand, whoever killed Daniel Latimer took his skateboard from the murder scene. Why would you do that?"

"You don't understand nothing," Susan said, getting very close to Yaz's face. "You're going to walk out of here right now. You're going to go back to the police station like a good faked Detective Inspector, and you aren't going to tell them anything you saw, or anythin' I told ya. Understand? We had a nice pot of tea and the dog liked ya. You didn't see anything." 

"That's police deception," Yaz breathed, her heart thudding out of her chest. "Susan, I could go to jail. If there's anything you saw, anything you know, trust me, it's easier telling me now than telling them under a tape." 

"Not my problem, is it?" Susan said with a shrug, raising the shovel. "I'm going to count to three. And if you aren't out of my caravan before three, you won't like what happens next. You don't tell them anythin'." 

Yaz swallowed a lump in her throat she didn't know was there. Her legs finally kicked back into motion and she rushed out of the caravan, sneaking past the dog and slamming the door behind her. She kept running until she reached the end of the trail leading to the forest, and she was very sure she had put enough distance between Susan and herself. Don't tell the police anything. Jesus Christ, this woman had just threatened her with a garden shovel. What could she do to Yaz if she didn't comply? Yaz shakily caught her breath, turned in the opposite direction and headed back to the station. 

She had left her police hat on the chair.

......

Yaz pulled up to the Broadchurch Police Station, electing not to use the sirens or emergency headlights, even though she had essentially just been threatened by a murder suspect. She could have torn up the town center and raised the alarm, but instead she was quiet, keeping her head down as she shuffled back into the main lobby. She peeled off her jacket and flashed her ID card at security, bought a calming tea and a small pastry from the small canteen and tried to make her way back to her desk as quietly as she could. Her goal? Avoid DI Hardy at all costs. Yaz had failed what he had asked her to do about the skateboard and Susan, and he would, without question, reprimand her about it as soon as he found out. 

Ellie briefly glanced up at Yaz from the cubicle in which she was chatting with Hardy, but Yaz quickly gave her a shake of her head and moved to the back of the room as quickly as she could. Ellie nodded and distracted DI Hardy for a few seconds with more rushed chatter before he spotted Yaz, throwing open the door and rushing to the back of her cubicle. Like usual, he leaned over her and rested his arms on the edge, always looking down on her. It wasn't that she thought Hardy was a bad person, but he was condescending at the best of times, a total asshole at the worst. 

"Susan Wright, find anything?" Hardy asked, bursting at the seams for information.

"Um- nothing, no," Yaz replied, nervously shifting in her seat. "She's a nice lady- had me round for tea. Seasoned world traveller, but she seems to have been there a while. She's very attached to her dog. And- um- that's it." 

"That's it?" Hardy squinted. "Nothing else? No alibi? No stimulating long conversation?" 

"No, I wasn't really there long enough for that," Yaz said, her hands nervously working into her pastry bag. "Short chat. Couple of notes on the caravan, I'm working on filing them now. It's very close to the cliffside hut, can't have been more than a hundred feet from the murder scene. Sir, she knows something. I'm sure of it."

"Then why are you blabbing at me about it?" Hardy ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Y' should've found it out from *her!* Listen, the best chance you have with suspects is when you're on good terms with them. Something tells me you've gone and ruined our best chance of getting information peacefully." 

"Sir! You haven't let me finish, I-" 

"If you were there for tea, why have you got something from the canteen that's enough for lunch and a drink?"

Yaz's gaze dropped, of course she had forgotten something. Always the simplest things, those were what tended to catch her off guard the most. She carefully studied DI Hardy as he paced around her desk cubicle a few times, then sighed and rubbed his face before pulling up a chair. He sat facing her as she finished her pastry, but it was odd, he didn't seem disappointed. He seemed even more interested than he had been before. Interested in her and where she came from, and what her intentions here in Broadchurch were. Ellie had warned her of this when she started up, when Hardy got short end of the stick he always accused people close to him of hiding secrets. Sure enough, it seemed to be happening again.

"Listen, Yasmin, I've given you plenty of chances for flack," said DI Hardy, catching her off guard. "Half of Broadchurch police seem to think something's up with you. Ellie's let me in on their little text chain and they mention you every single day. Where does she come from? Why has she gotten to the top so easily when she's got nothing to show for it? Did she have sex with the boss and do him a favor?"

"Sir, about that rumor, it's completely absurd and I haven't-" Yaz tried. "And how do you know my full name?"

"I know you're above that kind of behavior," Hardy replied calmly, inching closer to her. "But I don't know any of the other answers to their questions. Now, in my line of work, one single lie leads to a string of different lies. If you're not careful, you could end up the accused here just as much as Susan Wright. I encourage you to tell me anything that happened at her flat that might help us, or I will have you questioned for police deception." 

Yaz swallowed, twisting in her chair nervously as she drummed her fingers on the counter. She took a sip of her tea and let out a calming, deep breath. This had gone on for long enough. He had overworked her more than anyone, and it certainly wasn't because he liked her. His first instinct was to have her under the tape recorder. She needed someone on the police force on her side anyway- and it couldn't be so bad if it was the lead detective. 

"Maybe I have- um- fudged a bit," Yaz mumbled.

"There's a miracle no one saw coming," Hardy rolled his eyes, but seemed to be warming to her. "Now which are you going to tell me? Who you really are or what Susan did to you?" 

"Threatened me," Yaz replied, tears brimming. "With a shovel. Because I found something she didn't want the police to know about. I can't even be telling you that much, she knows what room I'm in at the Traders. And- I'm not really a DI. I've just graduated my trainee course for Sheffield police." 

"Sheffield! I knew the accent sounded familiar!" Hardy exclaimed gleefully, quickly clearing his throat. "Sorry. Go on."

"I'm here because-" Yaz laughed, why was she so scared of this? "You'll never believe me. No harm in telling you. My friend, somewhat more than a friend. She's in danger. She came to this town to hide. There's these creatures chasing her, and I took up a post here to keep her safe."

"No," said Hardy. "That's not everything. Come with me." 

Yaz longingly looked at the pastry as she left it behind, her stomach rumbling to remind her that she had indeed not had lunch, as Hardy suspected. Where was he taking her? They were going through a rather long route of the office- ah. His private room. Where he stored his coat and bags before the start of each shift. She always wondered if she'd ever get a look in here, it seemed like a mysterious place. But she wasn't ready for what she saw when he opened the door. His coat and bag hung off a coat rack, but it was a disued storage room leading into darkness. She stepped over the threshold at his invitation, going a bit further into the dark. 

"How is this here and no one's ever been in?" Yaz managed to ask in her shock.

"Humans," DI Hardy replied simply. "Shove a great big thing in the middle of a work place, tell them its off limits and they don't ask questions."

"Humans?"

DI Hardy clicked on a torch, illuminating the area. Yaz stumbled back at what she saw. A blue, shining bulb lit up the letters 'POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX.' The rusty blue doors, the silly detailed warning sign that said 'pull to open' near the handle. She knew it so well, and she hadn't seen it in weeks. But hang on- she had hidden the TARDIS with Graham over three sets of hills and in a small shed that no one would ever think to look at. Yaz suddenly felt incredibly thick. How could she have been here for months and not known this was here, in a storage closet all along? She slowly turned back round to Hardy. Or what she thought was Hardy.

"How is this possible?" Yaz asked. "How've you got a TARDIS?"

"Ah, that confirms it," Hardy grinned- yes, grinned! "I've been studying you. Testing you, making sure I can keep track of your movements and reactions. I really am so sorry about all the extra work, but I had to be sure. When I got here before the case, I knew there must be more of you around. Poor Beth in the center of it all- well, my future. She needs support."

"How do you mean your future?" Yaz breathed. "How can it be *your future*?" 

"Because I'm the Doctor."

.......

The Master took a deep breath as he checked the time in his dingy hotel room; almost half 4 in the afternoon, just when he said he would meet Beth at her place. With any luck, she would have the family all clear off and it would be just the two of them. He couldn't help smiling as he thought about it, his hands tracing the Gallifreyan carvings on the watch. He never let the damn thing out of his sight since Graham gave it to him. Of course he meant to store it away in his pocket, of course he could sense the scarecrow outside getting ever more restless by the day. Even by the hour at times; the clock hand would strike and the straw man's position would change. He shook himself as a shiver ran down his spine, pocketing the watch deep in his purple coat he knew that Beth loved. 

He took a quick detour to the loo, combing his hair to make sure that the strands fell over his eyes in the faintest way possible, just enough to cover the iris. Neatly combed, neatly groomed, just how he liked it. The Master traced his tongue around his teeth, checking for any last minute imperfections, glanced over his shoulder to check on the four orange pips and that the window was tightly latched. Satisfied, he locked the door to his room and bounded down the stairs. Becca Fisher threw him a questioning glance at seeing how happy he was, but even then he hadn't a care in the world. It was not normal for Brits to show as much emotion as he had in this moment. He was going to see the Doctor- Beth Latimer. He was going to see Beth Latimer, they would be alone, and she was starting to love him. Gods, this was complicated. At such a bad time in the poor human's life too.

He paced down the now familiar shopping streets of Broadchurch, which were starting to get a bit more activity now that tourists seemed to feel that the danger in the town had died down. It was about time too, the locals were getting extremely restless with the lack of their most popular industry. Broadchurch was a town monopolized by the beach. The Master let a deep breath of air escape his lungs as he passed a small path leading to the seaside, opposite the one where he had first met 'Beth.' He noticed a small white brick house he'd never seen before, drawn only by the smell of- smoke? Jesus Christ, what now? His feet unwillingly took him in the direction of the cottage, but he didn't need to go very far before he found the sense of the disturbance. 

A mob. A huge angry mob, carrying picket signs and posters, all yelling horrible phrases, some holding torches. The Master was not unfamiliar with scenes like this in his time on Earth or in his childhood on Gallifrey. There had been protests against the Lord President Rassillon every other week, with much more deadly things than picket signs and torches. But this poor old man they were cornering, Jack Marshall, the very man who the Master had tipped the press off to investigate. Well, they had investigated all right. But he didn't think there was anything to find. His expression grew very troubled as he grew nearer and he saw the slurs on the signs, hearing what everyone was yelling. And right at the center of the hoard- Mark Latimer. 

"Our children aren't safe!" the tall, brutish men were yelling. "Go back where ya' came from or your house'll get a tase of this fire!" 

"I don't admit to any such accusations!" Jack was yelling back in a broken voice. "I am and will remain innocent! I did NOT kill that poor boy!" 

"Alright, alright, lads, lets keep a distance," the police officer tried to get control of an overwhelming situation. "I'm requesting back up by Jack Marshall's house now. And for gods sake, get them on the case." 

Backup- police forces at that. Probably not the best place for the Master to be right now. As much as his instinct pitied the poor man and told him to do something, he wandered back up the hillside in the other direction. His hands shakily dialed 999 on his mobile as his nostrils took in the strong scent of smoke.

"Broadchurch Police?" He said, glancing back over his shoulder. "I think you're going to find Jack Marshall tomorrow."

"How do you mean, sir? Will you please state your name and location for the record?"

"No," the Master said impatiently. "I think you're going to find him dead." 

"Is that a threat, sir?" 

"Only if you make it out to be." 

*Click*. He'd done the best he could, alerted the police of the problem and leaving them to their own solution. Callous? Perhaps. It was how he had always done things. Stay just out of the line of fire to avoid being burnt, and let someone else deal with the problems. He couldn't help it, it was how he was raised. A rough childhood to say the least. Top of the class, quadrouple first graduate of the Achademy. Bullied and hated by much of the school besides his best mate Theta Sigma. Sometimes- most times, more than mates. Theta always gave them something else to think about, and comforted him when he allowed her. Sometimes by showing her the frog collection she was so proud of, other times something- more than comfort. Most other times. 

No, stop thinking about that. This isn't Theta Sigma, this isn't the Doctor. This isn't the Oncoming Storm. He held all of that right now in the tiny silver watch inside his coat pocket, next to his tissue compression eliminator, both nestled quite comfortably against the other. Occasionally, the Master had taken habit to brushing the edge of his compressor with his thumb and forefinger, just to remind him of who he really was at times of identity crisis. God, he had been hiding out on Earth as O for such a long time. But it was worth it, so incredibly worth it, to see the look of hope fade into terror and recognition on the Doctor's face as she came to the realization that she'd put herself and her 'fam' into the most danger they could be in. Would he do it again? Who knows. But it was always an option, even more so now that he had the watch.

.......

The Master took a deep breath as he approached Beth Latimer's house, shaking himself off and checking his reflection in the windowpane. Vanity, it always got the better of him. He knocked on the door, pausing to wait for a response. Knocked again. That was odd. He began to worry by the third knock, starting at hearing a sudden scream and a burst of sobbing. He hesitated, then kicked down the door. The liaisons officer was in the kitchen, snacking on scones and rice cakes lying around by the dozen. The Master raised his eyebrows as if to say 'really?' 

"Your client is having a breakdown and you're just sitting there...eating cakes?" his voice was laced with disgust.

"Please," the officer scoffed. "Beth does this every time she's left alone. I told Mark not to go but- he insisted. And what are you doin' here anyway? You're the stranger everyone's talking about up at the Traders." 

"Glad I've made myself known," the Master replied sarcastically. "John Smith. I'm a friend of Beth, she's invited me. By all means, stuff yourself and rid this poor family of the town's fake sympathy. Just don't bother a *real* professional, will you?" 

The Master rolled his eyes as the officer returned to his pile of tea and Jaffa Cakes with a nod, as though nothing else in the world troubled him. Jesus Christ, how many afternoons had this been going on? Beth left alone to cry and scream out her feelings, no one around to care. Right then, how to approach this? The world swirled around him as he made his way up the stairs, his hearts pounding in his chest, he could feel the cold metal of the watch through his thin shirt. The Master knocked on the door very gently, so as not to startle Beth.

"Beth, darling?" he asked softly. "It's John, John Smith. You invited me over earlier today- the liaisons officer let me in. I can come back round tomorrow if it's not a good time."

He could almost hear the stopping of her sobs as she abruptly came back to reality. Shuffle, shuffle, clatter. Thunk! The Master winced, wondering what state Beth would be in when she opened the door. Gods, he hoped she didn't harm herself. He had no idea what to do if she did, no idea how many secrets about her he could keep until his hearts burst. But they certainly did sink to the bottom of his chest when Beth wrenched the door open. She looked like she hadn't showered in days, her brown hair askew, her beautiful hazel eyes welling with tears, her outfit torn in shreds. And sure enough, he saw dull knife blade marks across one wrist that didn't currently hold a wine glass.

"Beth- oh, lovely," the Master barged in, not bothering to make a case for himself. "Come here. No, stop that. I said *come here.* Forget about that useless lump downstairs, yeah? I'm taking care of you now. Is your family out for the night?" 

"Mark's never cared," Beth's voice was airy, her hands waving about. "Why would he care? He's never here. Always by myself me, Chloes obviously thinks I can handle it. Strong ol' Beth." 

"Jesus, Beth, how many have you had?" The Master yanked the wine glass out of her hands, shattering it over the kitchen counter.

"Oi, that's my bes' wine glass, I could call police!" Beth shouted.

"And tell 'em what, hmm?" The Master challenged. "That you've snuck in a strange handsome man from the Traders you're hoping to shag under your family's nose? Go on- call them. They have a man downstairs." 

Beth let out another scream, but didn't make any sudden moves for a phone. He used her distraction to dash around her room, quickly finding every hidden wine spot with a second to spare. In the end he gathered five separate wine containers, each with above 4% density. And bloody hell, British wine was thick at the best of times. Above the nightstand, under the bed, tucked behind a desk, another curtain, in the loo. He carried all five in his hands as he marched from the room, disposing of them into the rubbish bins. He didn't spare the liaisons officer a second glance. He knew what Beth was doing. Drinking to cope. He'd done it far too often as Missy. There had been nights in the vault where the Doctor would cry by his side until he stopped drinking. 

Returning the favor. He did *not* want the Doctor's fragile mind to get in the same state he was. His mind was far stronger than her, he could handle it. This was a simple matter of fact. But the Doctor, weak and in human form, ready to crack, this was not the time for her to be drinking. Especially with a false pregnancy to muddle her mind. The Master returned to Beth's room to find her exactly where he expected, back propped up against the bed, her head curled in her legs, crying silently. He took a deep breath and cast a glance around the room, reaching gently for the Journal of Impossible Things. Scooting next to her like she did for him so many times, he nudged her gently. He felt a pulse against his hearts, surely it couldn't have come from the watch? 

"You alright?" he asked quietly, a gentle hand on her shoulder, a soft touch. "Hey- what I said. It was to shut you up. I'm sorry, it came out harsher than I thought." 

"Y' don't want to come round to shag, then?" Beth half chuckled, half gulped.

"Not if it's just so you can forget," the Master said truthfully. 

"Oh gods, where'd you get the book?" asked Beth as she raised her head. "S' all rubbish, that. Make believe. Kids stuff." 

"On the table outside," he replied. "These stories, they're so wonderful. So fantastical. How do you come up with these? You've got an amazing mind, Beth. I don't want it destroyed by drink. I don't want *you* destroyed by drink." 

"Y' don't know what it's like!" Beth snapped. "You can' possibly *know*. Everyone keeps sayin' that! Everyone says they know what it's like, they understand. *No one* understands!" 

"Don't bring this up, Beth, because you don't know a bloody thing about me!" the Master snapped. "I've lived, I've fought. If it weren't for my friend, I'd be dead by that same razor blade y' took to your own damn foolish skin! I'm repaying the favor."

The two caught their breath, a tense silence spreading over them as their chests heaved. They sat side by side, Beth trying to gather some semblence, trying to hide her cuts with her long sweater sleeve. She tucked her brown hair nervously behind her ear as the Master cleared his throat, her foot nudging closer to his own. For a moment, he thought he'd blown his chance. But then she reached into his lap and cracked open the journal. Fuck. Thank Gods. He could breathe. She flipped through the book to a page with a bunch of beautiful women- some he recognized. Screaming Sarah Jane, Dull Rose, Actually Not Bad Martha. She'd sketched each of their features so beautifully, a ghostly, whimsical quality. She turned to a page with a perfectly sketched replica of the TARDIS, tall and gleaming.

"What's a Ghost Monument?" he pointed to the scribbled writing next to the box with a soft smile.

"Ah, in m' head," she replied. "It's like- a temple. A travel machine. Takes me everywhere. Anywhere. You'd love it, it's like another space crammed inside an archway. The bluest blue ever." 

"Like a doorway?" the Master pretended to be clueless. 

And then as a smile spread across her face and she nodded, she flipped the page. Her hand started shaking. It was the page about him. 

"This Victorian Maiden," he said, his voice trying hard not to sound choked. "Who's she?" 

"She's lost," Beth replied quietly. "She- disappears later. I dunno what happens to her. I've tried- I've tried to find it, but it's not there. Like it's forbidden. God, she were brilliant. She never realized it, mind. Always a step ahead of me. She was the only one who made life worth livin. An- I think- she was the universe." 

The Master was crying silently. He didn't realize it, the Doctor was always right about him. He quickly hid it with a soft sigh, but was caught unawares as Beth placed the book down and wrapped her arms around him, kissing his tears away gently. She peppered soft kisses over his tan skin, across his beard, which only made him cry more. 

"Shh, c'mere," she said gently. "C'mere, it's just a story. Jus' like John Smith." 

The Master nodded, but didn't say another word. He hadn't cried much at all in this body, not as O, certainly not in his thousand year rage from what the Germans had done to him. But that was another story. He let hundreds of years emotions flow as she held him, kissing them all away. His hands gently snaked around to her back, soothing her as he felt the last of her cries fade away. A moment- a brief moment where her singular human heart connected with the soft fabic of his jacket and pressed against the watch, made him gasp out loud. Made her freeze. He wondered if she saw the same thing he did- a gentle human family, a kind teenager visiting her mum, John Smith and Beth moving away from Broadchurch. Having two children together, Beth starting over again. Beth stared at him as though he were a fantastical creature she had never seen.

"Did you see it?" she whispered. "That- did you see it?" 

"Yes," he replied. "Gods, do you want it? What we saw, do you want it?" 

"More 'n anything," the words trembled from her lips. 

The Master nodded, wrapping his arms around her and moving her to the lush bed. It felt wrong, yes, taking her in the same bed she slept in with her husband. But if he was right, her husband hadn't been present, really *with* her in days. If he had, surely he would have found and disposed of the mountains of alcohol. She was more skilled and graceful than he as she pounced on him in the bed, letting his head fall against the soft, lush pillows. Her lips traced a thin line of kisses across his collarbone, under his jaw, around his neck. When he let a soft groan leave him, she took the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, slamming their lips together in a fury of passion.

A bit feisty in human form, wasn't she? The thought crossed the Master's mind, allowing him a gentle smirk as he hummed and started working on the buttons of her red shirt, his hands tracing gently up her skin. He circled around her breasts, pulling her closer to him. This time, he let her take control, anything she liked, anything she needed. Quite a bit different from last time, she was more confident now. The Master smirked as his lips attacked her neck, latching onto the vein he *knew* she found most sensitive, the vein that had throbbed in the Gallery all those years ago.

"Ha-ahh!" Beth cried softly, her hips jutting upwards.

His hands were roaming her back, ripping apart her sweater in a sudden passion. She moaned as she felt his hands move lower, squeezing her arse and pulling her closer to his all too tightly clothed body. Beads of sweat started to from on his brow as he pampered her chest with kisses, pausing only to take a breast between his teeth, adoring the groan she gave in response. She finally managed to rid him of the jacket and vest, his tan skin exposed to her. He let his eyelids flutter shut as her lips traced every soft muscle of his chest, her hips rutting against his body with need as he held her firm. It wasn't until she kissed above his jeans waistline that he let out a shrill whine of his own, a smirk spreading across her face.

"Beth," he placed a gentle hand on her chest. "Y' sure it isn't you who goes to Scotland to shag people?" 

Beth threw her head back in a soft laugh, the tension in the room finally, finally ebbing away. Her lips moved from his beard to his chest, placing gentle, chaste kisses to his tan skin with intense passion. She used his distraction to unbluckle his trousers, bloody hell why did he have to have so many layers? In a tangle of lace and buttons, he yanked off her top and flung her down on the bed, her hair splayed like a brown raven across the messy pillows. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, the sweet smell of a summer night mixing with their skin as their hands traced every nerve, every sweet point- oh gods, Beth's hand had just worked its way down to his arse. He kissed across her neck and sucked on the collarbone as she jutted up her body to meet his. Their soft groans ebbed in unison, their minds so blissful, so blank. 

'You really are very fit', the thought crossed his mind as he watched the thin line of her throat throb up and down, her breaths growing more and more comfortable. He wished she would do this on her own accord, without a human persona to help guide her. So naked and vulnerable, yet so at home and so- in command. It was she who threw him against the headboard, she who lined up and took the first thrust, his carefully tidied hair all messed up across his face, only causing her to place more kisses onto each strand. He let a soft moan escape as she took one of his strands of hair between his teeth, sliding them gently until she met his tan forehead, met with a soft bite to the skin.

The Master gave a soft yelp as Beth took his hands, her nails digging into his skin, splaying them across the bedside and holding him down firmly. He tried to move his hips up to meet her thrusts, met only with her incessant strength in return. He settled for wrapping his lips around a breast, sucking at her skin gently as *she* took his body and made it hers. Her soft, golden hair melded with the summer breeze, the sun dipping below the horizon as her head kissed lower and lower down his sensitive chest. The crashing of the waves barely covered up the creaks of the bed as the human dominated the time lord, so very neatly reminding him exactly what it was he so desperately *hated* about himself, washing it away with monumental pleasure.

.......

Somewhere across town, a young journalist had phoned in a missing family boat to the Broadchurch police station and had just come out of the questioning room. Alec and Ellie received another call, this one much more dire and with several more consequences. 

Across town, police sirens blared, a mob retreated. 

Across town, Ellie and Alec pulled up to the beach, clambered down and shone their torches to the beach from the path to the cliffside hut. Ellie put a hand over her mouth at what lay waiting on the beach.

Across town, Jack Marshall had jumped from the Broadchurch Cliffs, an innocent man dying an innocent death. The only man to help him had turned away.  
.....


	5. Chapter Five: The Village Fete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Smith and Beth Latimer attend the village dance and realize that the fluttery feeling in their hearts is one of love. But with a scarecrow army growing ever more powerful and a policewoman shouting about a watch, their time is all too short to last.

Chapter Five: The Village Fete

The Master woke the next morning feeling quite giddy. It wasn't a feeling he experienced often, certainly never this strongly, and he held onto it while it lasted. A fluttery sort of feeling resided in his hearts every time he thought of Beth Latimer, but he couldn't pin down exactly what it was. He had retired back to his hotel room in the wee hours, as he and Beth both agreed that should Mark come home, the last thing any of them would want would be another man actively shagging his wife in their bed. But it worried the Master when he got back to his hotel room and saw that the scarecrow had moved. It no longer resided just under the ledge, where it had been all week. In fact, he couldn't see it at all. It worried him immensely, he wondered what it could be planning. It had kept a constant guard on him the moment he stepped foot in the hotel. His gaze met the tray Becca had still not cleaned out of his room and the light that so briefly crossed his face fell.

There was yet another orange pip missing. He was down to two. He had theorized all week about what the countdown could possibly be for, and why it seemed to change every time he went to see Beth Latimer. Whenever he met her down the path by the beach or indeed at her own house, a pip always went missing. Was it a countdown to something occurring between them? A fight was the Master's most likely guess. Was it a countdown to the Family of Blood discovering the Doctor's true identity and exposing her to the town of Broadchurch? Or his? Whatever the case, it riddled the Master's mind with anxiety, something he despised as it kept him from thinking about much more important things. He dragged the shaving razor down his skin, wiping away the small cut on his chin. He really must stop getting so distracted.

But it was Beth. That funny, fluttery feeling in his hearts, worming its way down to his chest. He couldn't decide whether he liked it or not, and had to keep reminding himself that this was very much not the Doctor. This was everything the Doctor despised. But perhaps that was what it took for them to finally see themselves in the others eyes. He straightened the collar on his black suit. 

The fete started at precisely mid day, with a dance and drinks at the town center, which had been transformed into a marketplace of games, slides and joyful activities for young ones. The Master hated it all. He sneered and turned up his face as he passed the construction last night, taking care to deliberately collide with a few folding tables and chairs, which scattered a banner and a crate full of flags. It would be difficult to keep neutral while he was there. The only thing he cared about that would *be there* was Beth. 

If it weren't for her, he would doubtless be avoiding the chattering and gossip with another walk on the sea or spending the day writing in his own journal. He had started it since he saw the Doctor's, but it had no where near the skill level or the mastery of her work. Try as he might, all he could form were short sentences and jolted descriptions, followed by sketches that she would laugh at. How did she see the world so clearly? 

So beautifully. How did she spin it all into a ghostly story, then forget it so easily, tuck it away in the corner of her mind? He sighed as he combed the strands of his hair into his eyes, there were so many things about her he would never understand. But she was going to a dance with him. Tonight. Well, with John Smith. Was he nervous? The Master didn't *get* nervous.

A sudden disturbance downstairs made him drop his comb in the sink full of running tap water; it seemed to be coming from directly below his room. Odd, that was the main bar area. He was used to the occasional drunken shouts at night on weekdays, but at half eleven in the morning? He didn't bother to switch off the taps as he dashed from the bathroom, left in his crisp white shirt and half straightened black bowtie, his hair a mess. The Master clambered down the stairs, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. Beth stood in the main bar area in a pretty red dress, her hair partly done up as his was, as though she had stopped by in the midst of getting ready. 

The priest from the local church was sitting at a smaller table, lord knew what he was doing here, and Becca Fisher stood near the bar. Beth wandered over, debating silently. He could see it in her eyes, the flash of inner fury, knowing the look on her face so very well. It startled him how *Doctor* it was. Without warning, she launched for the beer taps, flipping them all on and flooding the counter with amber liquid. She leaned across the bar, heading for the next set of taps and managing to slam down the heaviest of the lot with a flailing arm, the priest was trying to get her back. Beth let a scream rip across the room as her hands dove next into the basket of crisps next to the cash register, hurling them one by one at Becca Fisher. The Master tried very hard not to let a grin spread across his face, but didn't do anything to stop it either.

"Beth!" he shouted. "Beth, darling, enough! Beth!" 

"Beth, stop it, stop throwing crisps!" Becca was hysterical, shriveling up to protect herself as the priest pulled Beth a good distance away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry- it was a mistake!" 

"You're right it was," Beth growled. "MY husband!" 

"I am sorry," Becca repeated, breathing heavily as the stream of beer flowed onto the wood flooring. "If we had known what was going to happen-" 

"Don't you dare," Beth didn't back down, her fury only growing in her eyes. "Don't you DARE bring tha' into it. Because I will nail you to the floor before I let y' wreck fifteen YEARS of my life. Come near my family again, and I'll break your fucking face." 

"Okay. Understood."

The Master was beside himself, his chest heaving as he felt the ebbing tension in the room. Beth's fury was palpable, her stance similar to that of a mountain lion. He placed a gentle hand on her arm as the priest lead her away from Becca Fisher, treading carefully over the shards of broken glass that littered the floor. 

"D' you know what she DID?" Beth snapped at the priest.

"I'm getting the gist," the priest replied. 

The Master offered a simple touch of his hand to her arm as she was escorted from the room. In the single second of skin contact, he could feel her fury, see the rage burning beneath her eyes, the Oncoming Storm, the wrath of a time lord. It wasn't just her human form about to break, but her time lord mind too. That made her ten times more vulnerable, and ten times more deadly. Becca Fisher had never looked more pathetic standing in the sodding mess of beer, broken glass and bags of chips. She pleaded with him silently for help, but he simply raised an eyebrow and returned to his room.

..... 

Yasmin Khan had overslept. Not for the first time since DI Hardy had been overworking her. Even after he allowed her to discover who he really was, he didn't relent with his extra paperwork and projects. He didn't want the other members of the police team to think he favored her, nor that he had let her off the hook. He explained this all to her in a rather rushed stream of dialog, standing in the grungy, steampunk version of his TARDIS he loved so dearly. 

It was so -different- from her Doctor, but so similar. The roundels on the walls, the complicated wiring that she never explained, the see through glass flooring. He looked so at home in it, much more than he ever had in the Broadchurch police office. So much of his behavior was explained now, why he always was so socially awkward around DS Miller, why he never went to the weekend parties with the rest of the team. 

She yawned and put her hair up in a lazy bun, shouldering her bright yellow jacket and grabbing a coffee from the canteen. Rolling her eyes, she took her seat at her desk in the back where DI Hardy was already waiting for her. Jesus, did he ever leave the office? Every time she had come in early, before anyone else, including DS Miller, he was here and waiting. He looked very cross holding a packet of files she realized she had forgotten to fill out last night. 

She had exhausted herself trying to find a case for the skateboard being inside Susan's caravan and how close the caravan was to the clifftop hut that she had neglected paperwork. Sure enough, he didn't wait a second for her to take a sip of her drink nor a bite of pastry. How did DS Miller put up with him all the time? She'd never understand that woman's patience with her boss that got her job. 

"Oh, sir, really, I was going to file those last night but it was getting on 2 am and I was tracking Susan's movements the night of the murder," Yaz groaned. "I've been so overworked, I dozed off at my desk and I had to head back to the hotel."

"Overworked?" DI Hardy said in a quiet, deadly voice. "OVERworked? A child has DIED, and your biggest problem is if you don't get enough sleep at night? They didn't train you properly over at Sheffield Police. Our biggest concern, every day, all day on the job, is making sure Beth Latimer and her family get to have the simple decency of a funeral service for that boy and bringing him to justice. His body is still considered evidence, they can't even see him, and you're worried about your sleep!" 

"Sir!" Yaz exclaimed, backing away. "With all due respect, this is my first case of this nature. My first case on the FIELD since I completed training. You've given me more assignments than those grunts London sent in from Scotland Yard, don't you think they'd be more qualified to complete them than I would?" 

DI Hardy had never looked so furious. She had never seen this rage in the Doctor before, in any of her personas. She knew what he was trying to do, he was trying to wind her up and she had given in. It was hardly her fault, she had gotten a collective five hours of sleep the past few nights while everyone else in the office always came into work looking very refreshed for the next day. She hardly knew anyone in the town. Graham had it much easier than her. There was no one on the police force she could turn to for help, no one to help her take care of the Doctor. She'd lost track of caring for herself in the process, which she knew was what the Doctor would want her to do. Put herself first. 

"Right," said DI Hardy quietly. "Right, that makes everything very clear." 

"Sir- sir, what I said, I didn't mean, oh god, sir, please-" Yaz stumbled for words. 

"Yasmin Khan, I am revoking your Detective Inspector Badge in light of hiding police evidence, identity theft and crime, including inability to complete assigned work, which led to delaying a murder charge," DI Hardy snapped. "You are hereby demoted to DS, Detective Sargent, and will be working with DS Miller to solve the case. You are expected to follow any and all instructions from DS Miller, who you will be reporting to as officer on duty. Any questions?"

"No, sir," Yaz said, quiet, rushed, already starting to shrivel in.

DI Hardy nodded, shuffling his papers as he stood. He extended a hand, Yaz only realizing after a second that she was meant to give him her fake badge. She hesitated, then, with trembling fingers, tore it from her jacket and placed it in his outstretched palm. He sniffed as he closed his hand and stuffed the badge in his pocket, turning his nose up; the most pretentious she had ever seen the Doctor as he walked away. She couldn't help but wonder how much younger this version of the Doctor was than hers. His outbursts were nothing like her, and frankly she didn't know if she could handle it if her Doctor yelled at her that way. With her Doctor, it was always gentle voices and soft touches, meaningful looks. Never anything like this. 

"I want you on patrol at the village fete this evening," DI Hardy said. "First job as DS. Surprisingly little paperwork." 

Great. And now she was stuck as security patrol at a fancy dress dance with hundreds of screaming kids. No, think, she scolded herself. This was the Doctor telling her where he wanted her. He had to have some reason for stripping her of her title and sending her to the fair. Perhaps she'd see Beth there an be able to keep an eye on her inconspicuously. Perhaps the Family of Blood would use this as an opportunity to attack. 

And, if she was lucky, she woulds see the stranger John Smith there and be able to follow the most bizarre of DI Hardy's requests last night; give him the watch, or make sure he already had it. Graham was keeping guard over the watch in the village pub, but it seemed foolish to tell DI Hardy this as it would just be another reason for him to berate her, leaving the watch out in the open. But if the job at the Broadchurch Police had taught her anything about dealing with this impossible version of the Doctor, she simply gave a sigh and nodded, then returned to her boring desk job work of placing all the files in order.

If she had been a bit more careful and meticulous about the task at hand, she may just have noticed that Mark Latimer's records of the night of the murder coincided with just one other person; Joe Miller.  
......  
Beth Latimer was getting ready for the Village Fete when a very important realization popped into her mind. She would have the car for the evening to get to and from the dance, as she convinced Mark that she would be stopping off for a grocery run after briefly seeing the festivities the "fairgrounds" had to offer. While she had the car for the whole day, she may as well use it to her advantage, and use it now. It was already hard convincing Mark that she was dolling herself up just to feel nice, and certainly not because she was meeting a handsome stranger she was starting to fall in love with at the dance. She needed to know more about DI Hardy and where he came from before Broadchurch.

The psychic man had warned her, hadn't he? Hardy had been here before, and he was right about Danny being found on a boat. Now he was saying that Danny was killed by someone they all knew, someone close to home. Could she trust DI Hardy? Wasn't trust more important when it came to choosing the right detective on a murder case? The journalist had given her a list of names connected to Sandbrooke, the case DI Hardy had failed previously. She hesitated, then rang the number of the Sandbrooke wife. She was surprised, but for the most part kind and understanding when she knew who Beth was, instantly linking her to newspaper reports about Broadchurch. She could meet Beth today in a little cafe on the high street at noon, just before Beth was due at the village fete to meet up with John Smith. 

It was a work in progress plan, but it was all she had. She didn't want it known by anyone, except maybe John Smith, that she was going against police orders twice in one day. From what little she knew of him, he might think it hilarious and praise her for her bold actions. The thought spurred her on as she straightened her frizzy brown hair, very bed head from what activity had occurred last night, then slipped into her prettiest red dress and shoes after having a wash. She applied a thin layer of red lipstick, not bothering about anything more fancy. If it was good enough for her, it would have to be good enough for John. She felt a flutter in her heart when she thought of him, an annoying, jittery flutter that wouldn't go away. 

As she started the car, she realized she was feeling quite giddy, and the happiest she had been since Danny's death. A twinge of guilt surged through her, surely she wasn't meant to be happy anymore since his murder. He was her son, for gods sake. She shook the thought from her mind, she was on a mission. Beth drove round to the cafe along the coast of Broadchurch, nice and out of the way. If anyone found them, it would only be because they were actively out looking. She was very pretty, the Sandbrooke wife, was Beth's first thought. But so sad. So distant. So...without hope. Neither of them ate, they talked only of DI Hardy, of her daughter, and how she coped. And she was the only person Beth sincerely believed an apology from. Who knew she understood. 

"God, I can't say this enough, Beth, do NOT trust Alec Hardy," she said in her broken voice. "Do NOT trust him, because he failed our family. I don't want to see him fail another. Go with any competent officer, anyone but him." 

"OK," Beth replied in a shaky voice. "I believe you, really, I do. Why do you think we'll do better with someone else?"

"Because if he hadn't failed Sandbrooke, I wouldn't be sat here talkin' with you," she said. "Because my daughter would still be alive. And I don't want that to happen to your boy." 

Beth gave a shaky nod and fell silent. The food remained cold on the table as they both got up to leave and decided on an awkward handshake, exchanged 'call me if you need me's, and went on their separate ways. She wondered how many other mothers had contacted that poor woman in the same way she had all from seeing her picture in the press, then wondered when it would be her turn. And what she would tell others. She shook her head, remembering that she was dressed for a date with John Smith. Something this lost mother would call a distraction. But she wasn't lost. She had Chloe. She had a family. This was simply a night off, a break from being the sad, lonely wife in the papers. She shook herself and started the car ignition. 

Tonight was her night away from everything. But she had learned one very important thing from their meeting. Not to trust DI Alec Hardy, and not to let him fail Daniel Latimer. 

.....

The town center hadn't been so alive with people and gossip since Danny's death. Beth couldn't help a small smile forming across her face as she got out of the car and joined the hustle and bustle of the crowds. Here, at least, she could be inconspicuous and alone. Everyone was too worried about looking after their own children, shrieking and running around the bouncy castles and throwing darts at sturdy targets. Beth felt a twinge of regret that she wasn't able to bring Danny to this fair, he would have loved the carnival aspect. She wouldn't have bothered with Chloe if she didn't want to get lectured about it for the next month and a half about how she was too old for kiddie games. Where was John Smith? She was going to meet him at the center of the square by the fountain, and it was starting to look strange that she was here on her own.

She was starting to get the telltale glances and soft whispers people thought she couldn't hear whenever she passed by. A wave of anxiety rose in her chest, her heart starting to thrum out of control. She glanced around, now she was looking at the fountain every five minutes. She noticed everything about the area in this rush of panic; the young officer who often came to check if she was alright stood on village patrol, but there were quite a lot of strange scarecrows on the perimeter of the square. Was it just her, or did all the scarecrows seem to be...looking at her? Stop it, she scolded. You're letting your imagination run away from you, just like Mark always said. Beth jumped as she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, whirling around to see John.

She sighed in relief that it was just him, though quite frankly who else would have the nerve to tap her on the shoulder like that? Her gaze drifted up and down his body, he looked very handsome indeed tonight in a crisp black suit and bowtie, his hair falling in front of his eyes just how he knew she liked it. Well, he must have known. She tried to hide her girlish feelings around him, but always failed miserably. His lips cracked into a smile as she became more relaxed, her red dress flowing around her ankles.

"Beth," he said gently. "Are you sure you're alright to be here? After this morning, I wouldn't blame you at all."

"Yeah, right, yeah, this morning," Beth repeated, a bit dazed that she had gone mental on Becca Fisher at all. "Listen, it were a one time thing. I'm not usually like that at all. An-"

She went very quiet very suddenly, for John Smith had just placed his finger on her lips and kept it there for a good minute. He certainly knew how to shut her up.

"Beth," said John. "I think it was *brilliant.* She's needed someone to put her in her place for a long time, and I'm glad it happened to be you. Would've done it musself sooner or later, if you hadn't turned up." 

"Ah, I see, you'd have broken glass 'round her feet and thrown chips at her?" Beth chuckled. "Oh gods, d' you think I'll have to pay her back? I'm not payin' her back, she deserved what she got." 

"Can I just say, you're bloody amazing," John Smith smiled, kissing her cheek with a bold move. "C'mon. Shall we go waste our paycheck at cheap fair games?" 

"Haven't got a paycheck," Beth shrugged, a sad smile starting to form.

"Shame," John Smith took her hand. "We'll have to use mine instead. Don't think that gets you off the hook, young lady." 

Beth squealed as John twirled her around and took her hand, spinning her into his arms until her head was resting on his soft, muscled chest. She giggled, feeling much like a little girl again, a sense of free spirit she hadn't felt since Danny. She followed him to the cash machines, feeling only a twinge of guilt when he returned with a packet of 20 pound bills to exchange for tokens. He urged her on to play faire games. Her grins, bad jokes and high pitched laughter only increased through the afternoon as she won the beanbag toss, lost miserably at archery, was convinced onto riding the prettiest horse on the carousel and chided into a pair of ice creams for 99 p. She felt incredibly free and so very in love, falling even more so into the river of lust by the second as she watched his more childish side shine through. John Smith, this mysterious, handsome stranger who was so very out of place in Broadchurch and only seemed to care about her, became her best friend that afternoon. 

As she made her way through the fair, however, she couldn't shake off the feeling that they were being followed. John kept glancing over his shoulder every five minutes and shrugging off her questions with a simple 'don't worry about it' when she asked what was wrong. She did notice something very odd, there were scarecrows lining up alongside the town square, as though observing the Broadchurch residents. Almost like they were looking for someone. 

That afternoon, she felt like she was fifteen again, like the wind could carry her away from all her problems, Broadchurch seemed so very small and insignificant. She didn't care about all the people in the town staring at her, why did they matter when she had John Smith at her side? Beth only noticed an officer standing at the back of the dance floor, because she thought it was quite strange to have someone on patrol at this hour, and at this sort of event. It didn't bother her much, this was the young officer who often checked on her family after Danny had died, and seemed to have taken a liking to Beth. But when John Smith got up from their tiny table at the back of the now- assembled dance floor in the town barn, she absolutely did have a problem with the young officer. Because she was sitting in front of Beth now, her face very notably grim. 

"Can I help you, DI Khan?" Beth asked, her tone cold. 

"Erm- DS Khan now, I'm afraid," she replied. "That man over there. He's different than anyone you've met, right? Don't worry, I won't tell Mark. Cross my heart." 

"Look, I know the police don' want me with him and I understand that perfectly well, I really do," said Beth. "But- yes, he's different. He doesn't gawp and stare at me like every other bloody person does at this fair alone. Have you seen 'em! Look!" 

She motioned to an older couple at the table next to them, who had just been whispering behind their hands and glancing at Beth every couple of seconds, but when they noticed Beth staring, they quickly turned away and resumed their normal chatter. Such things happened to Beth on the daily, but John Smith was different. John Smith actually cared about her. He didn't give a shit about town gossip, and she loved him for that. She had startled herself- love. That's what the fluttery feeling in her chest was. She was starting to love him. 

"You love him, don't you?" DS Khan asked, her expression shifting at seeing the look on Beth's face. "Look, Beth. There's something you need to know about him. And I'm not trying to keep you away from him, I promise you I'm not. I'm trying to warn you. This man- isn't who he says he is. You've met him before. You've met *me* before. In another life. God, this is hard to explain when you're like this. You don't have a clue what I'm talking about do you?" 

"I- I really don't know what it is you want from me," said Beth, glancing nervously over her shoulder at John. "I think it would be a good idea for you to leave right now." 

"You do know," said DS Khan gently, her expression kind. "You know so much and its tearing your mind apart. I can see it in your eyes, that little glimmer, just out of sight. You think you've hidden it all away, but it's there, Beth. It's always there. You've told him about it. You're not Beth Latimer. You're called the Doctor. You're this amazing, incredible alien who we need more than ever right now and gods- we love her to bits." 

"DS Khan, this is getting out of hand," Beth sighed. "How can you know? About the Doctor? I've only told John, she's the woman I see in my dreams, pure fantasy. I must insist that you leave, or I will call your officer in charge and report you for harassment." 

"You're kidding me," DS Khan sighed, her face falling. "You really don't remember- anything. You don't believe that woman is you. Look, we need the Doctor now. The Family of Blood are here at the fair and we don't know what they want or what they're doing and you need to tell me- where's the watch!?" 

"Is there a problem over here, Beth?" 

Shit. John Smith had chosen to come back from the drinks table the moment DS Khan had brought up the watch, her expression pained and distant as he came closer. He eyed her suspiciously. DS Khan knew he wasn't really called John Smith, and knew his intentions here with Beth were far beyond dangerous. Her mouth fell open when she caught sight of a glimmering silver chain emerging from the pocket on his chest. The Master. The Master was here and he had the watch. The Master had complete control of the Doctor, and the Family were about to attack the fair, hundreds of innocents milling around and chatting aimlessly as the scarecrows crept closer. 

"DS Khan was just leaving," Beth said with a false smile, getting up from her chair. 

Yaz was fuming as she left, the Master pulling her away to the drinks table. She placed a hand on the gun in her pocket, as she often did in situations when she felt uneasy. Just a nice reminder that it was there, and she held some semblance of power. Power to stop the chaos if things escalated quickly. She blended into the background as the dancers started congregating to the center floor and the band struck up jazzy music. Yaz paced, watching as people found their dates, as little kids blushed and ran to the kiddie table, as announcers took to the podium to start fundraising. She stood by the window, wondering how much time they had before things went haywire. Not much, it seemed, for a hideous face of a scarecrow had just popped out at her from behind the barn, nearly giving her a heart attack.

"Everyone, please take your partners for a waltz!" 

The announcer had just come to the microphone, beaming. Beth raised an eyebrow and looked in John Smith's direction, her smile spreading across her face once more. God damn it. Yaz had never hated anyone more as John offered his hand and lead her to the floor. The couple was one of the first to dance, everyone in town looking at Beth very shocked that she had moved on so fast from Mark. Surely this was wrong? But she looked so happy. Beth was recalling her dance lessons from childhood, guiding the Masters steps as he picked up on her movements across the floor, twirling neatly in and out of other couples paths. 

"You *can* dance!" Beth laughed.

"Surprised musself," the Master smiled, narrowly dodging an older couple. 

Beth looked into his eyes as he moved her around the room, her red dress swirling over her ankles as the tempo of the music guided them along in a blissful daydream. Nothing could spoil her mood tonight, not Mark, not Danny, certainly not DS Khan, no matter how hard she tried. He looked just as lovesick as she, his hands gentle on her waist, but a gleam of something in his brown iris that she couldn't detect, but almost looked like guilt. John Smith was the finest partner on the floor, and just perfect for her. Tall, dark, mysterious. An inkling of familiarity, of warmness. Like she had met him before. She didn't notice that the movement on the dance floor had suddenly stopped, everyone silent and whispering nervously, until John clasped her hand and pulled her aside. 

"Forget anything the officer has told you and everything will be fine, darling," John Smith whispered to her in a rushed stream of words. 

"We asked for SILENCE!!" 

An old man was standing with a younger teenage boy, a vicious looking young woman with beady eyes, a delicate little girl with a long plait of blonde hair, holding the strangest things Beth had ever seen. They seemed to be green sticks, their shapes harkened to guns in her eyes. Her suspicion was confirmed when they raised the weapon and pointed it at the announcer, disintegrating him to ash. Beth put a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. DS Khan rushed over to her and John Smith, her eyes locked on a young teenage boy held between the man and woman. 

"Now then," said the man. "We have a few questions for Beth Latimer."

"That's not Beth Latimer," the little girl smiled sweetly. "That, Father of Mine, is the Doctor. I heard the officer asking her questions. About the fob watch. The old man's been keeping it at the Inn." 

"You took human form," the boy chuckled. "Again? Did you think you could fool us with the same trick twice? Doctor, I applaud your gallant effort, it almost matches your stupidity. I'd like to introduce a little scenario circa dated 1914. Perhaps you remember." 

The boy lifted a gun alongside the man, the look in their eyes simply venomous. John Smith placed a gentle arm in front of Beth, shielding her from potential harm as her eyes grew wide. How strangely dressed they were too, these people. The woman had a rather matronly get up, the man a tattered old suit and the boy in schoolboy clothes. But all so- old. So ancient. As if time was standing in front of her, Beth Latimer, who had never wronged anyone in her life, holding a gun at the ready.

"Change back," the boy ordered. "This time, Doctor, we won't be so kind."

"I- I literally have no idea who you are," Beth wrung her hands as her anxiety rushed up into her mind. "I don't know what you want from me! What *could* you need me for?" 

"I see," the boy said gently. "A simple, thick human brain. So hard to make decisions, especially for the fairer sex. This would be your lovely date for the night, wouldn't it? And this- your protector?" 

The Master grunted in pain as the cross old woman released her grip on the teenager and took him around the neck in a tight choke hold, pointing her weapon across the room at Beth Latimer. The old man took DS Khan as she screamed and fought against his hold, struggling in his arms. 

"Which one, Doctor?" the boy asked. "We know the drill by now, don't we boys? So reliable when ones mind is so weak. Which one do you want us to kill to flush you out? Your friend? Or your lover? Your choice." 

.......

John Smith was breathing very heavily and shielding Beth the best he could as the Family of Blood pointed their guns. The fury on his face was palpable from the simple threat, his chest heaving. He stood in front of Beth as her expression grew more and more terrified, her poor brain going into overdrive at the idea of these alien creatures threatening the life she knew. The cold metal of the watch pressed against his chest, a gentle whisper, her soft voice reaching out to him. 'Not yet. Not the time. Keep me close. Keep me hidden.' And so John Smith did just that. 

"Beth, darling, I want you to listen very closely to everything I'm about to say," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I've lied to you. I'm not the man you think, and you aren't who you think you are either. But your companions lives are at risk, and you called me here for a reason, whether you remember or not. I want you to get everyone out of here when I open the watch." 

"Mr. Smith, do NOT open the watch!" Yaz shouted from Mother of Mine's grip. "She gave that to YOU, she trusted you!"

"John," Beth trembled, on the verge of tears. "John, please tell me what is going on. Why've you lied t' me? Y' said you cared about me, you said-"

"All of that was real, Beth," John replied. "Don't for one second think that it wasn't. And because it's real, I need you to run. Now. Take them with you." 

"Who are these people, John?" Beth exclaimed, her voice cracking. "What can *you* do to stop them? They killed Mr. Harris, I saw it- we all did!" 

"Beth, darling," John turned to her. "Do as I say. Get yourself safe." 

John Smith made eye contact with DS Khan, who glared him down as she slipped out of Mother of Mine's grasp. She took the young teenagers hand first, then motioned Beth Latimer over to her. DS Khan stopped at the door once everyone had been escorted out of the building in a silent, trembling line of people. She turned around and pointed at the Master, her intent and expression clear. 

"She trusts you," she said. "Do NOT break that trust, Master. You won't just have to deal with her. You'll have to deal with me. I hope to god you're doing the right thing." 

The Master swallowed a lump he didn't know was hiding in his throat as she slammed the door behind her and bolted it shut. He could hear the screams of the Broadchurch residents all running from the barn as he turned back to the Family of Blood, who were now all circling him, all quite sinister in their own way. The little girl scared him the most, her red as sin eyes glaring up at him from her innocent little form. His hearts were beating against the fob watch as he moved a hand to his pocket that held the tissue compression eliminator. 

"Sacrificing yourself for your love," Mother of Mine sneered. "How very gallant of you. Shame the Doctor won't remember when she wakes up. And if she did- do you honestly think she would care after all you've done to her?"

"You don't know much about me then," the Master chuckled, a soft grin starting to form across his face. "You've captured the wrong one. You could've had the fake police officer, the boring teenager or the dull bar tender. Instead, you chose the other time lord. You chose the one with the watch. And let me tell you, if you've got the last of her race scared and holding a weapon, its not the best combination." 

The Family shifted back as he opened his jacket to reveal the tissue compression eliminator resting along the hem of his jacket. He placed a gentle hand over it, moving as though to take it from his pocket, but instead moved up to dig into an upper corner for the watch. His tan fingers closed around the cool material of the handle and he held it safely in his palm. The alarmed whispers of the Doctor flooded his ears, his hearts beating out of his chest in his sudden fear. He could hear her shouting at him, hear her complaints about his plan.

"Very good," Father of Mine sneered. "Perhaps you were the right choice after all. I didn't expect you to hand the watch over so easily." 

"No, no," the Master chuckled, holding up his hands. "I insist. Take the watch, take me. But do please deliver me back to my hotel room once you're done, I'd hate Beth to be without a mysterious lover to keep her sane in these trying times." 

"You're serious," Son of Mine scoffed, his eyebrows raised.

The Master bowed, completing the picture of surrender. His hair flopped over into his eyes as he shifted upright dramatically and took a few steps towards the family, placing the watch directly into the hand of Son of Mine. He could feel the disappointment and anger radiating from the cold surface as he released his hand, hear the whispers in his mind. Time lord sensory was always a very acute feature, and went off the scale when the body was threatened. Son of Mine looked radiant with victory, the three drawing their attention to the watch. He took his opportunity to slip from the room through the back entrance as Son of Mine opened the watch after tracing the Gallifreyan markings. The Doctor was about to be released, all hell would surely break loose, but...

The watch was empty. The Master twirled his tissue compression around in his hand as he retired to his hotel room, giving a swift nod to Graham after climbing the stairs only after he returned one. Beth was safe, the evening had gone exactly as he planned. Just as he predicted, when he took in the breakfast tray at the bay window, he was down to exactly one orange pip. 

Across town, DI Alec Hardy sat down at his desk in Broadchurch Police Department and turned around in his chair before calling his daughter. Another night of no family contact. He sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out the real Gallifreyan Watch, which the Master had slipped to him just before the village fete. And nobody was any the wiser. 

.....

The next morning, Yasmin Khan was worried. She didn't know whether or not the Master had given the watch to the family, and she didn't know if the Doctor was safe. If she wasn't, it would be her fault. She had been the one to suggest that Graham hold onto the watch at the bar, it was too valuable to be lying around the police station in broad daylight. She was still reeling from the threat of Susan Wright the other day, her mind most annoyingly replaying the raising of her makeshift weapon. Would Susan have hit her? Would she have died just like Danny? Susan had threatened a police officer, she needed to be called out for it. Yaz needed to take some control of an uncontrollable situation. 

She took a deep breath as she approached DI Hardy's desk, waiting outside for DS Miller to come and give her assignments for the day, as was customary for a rank below. After DS Miller filled her in, she knocked quietly on the door and approached, noticing that he looked rather worried and tired himself. Did he ever sleep? Yaz had developed kinder feelings towards him after discovering who he truly was. He kept placing a hand over his pocket, as if checking and double checking that something was still inside. What lie had he built for his human persona? What secrets did he have to keep for himself? Yaz cleared her throat, shuffling nervously.

"Erm- I wanted to report," she said. "When Susan threatened me- I didn't want other members of Broadchurch Police to know about it. But now- I think it's important, imperative, that they should know. Because I may have stumbled upon a piece of evidence I didn't realize the significance of." 

"What kind of evidence?" DI Hardy sighed, looking up at her.

"The skateboard," she replied. "Danny's skateboard. I found it in the closet after I fell on the door, its the reason she threatened me at all. Before I saw it was there, her attitude was so different. All smiles and cups of tea and 'let me get you the sugar.' But when I found the board, she just turned furious." 

"And you're only coming forward with this now?" DI Hardy rolled his eyes. "I don't think you understand why the skateboard is so critical. The fact she attacked you over it makes it ten times worse and certainly puts a tick mark by her name for murder motives. Danny's skateboard. He rode his skateboard to the scene of the murder, from what we could gather from the CCTV footage. It cuts out by the clifftop hut. When Danny's body was found on the beach, his skateboard was missing." 

"So- why does Susan have it?" 

"Why indeed," DI Hardy mused. "Doesn't matter anyway, we've got it locked up in evidence now. Miller was just talking with me about it, her son says that Susan's been having him round to feed her dog and give him walks. Didn't give any indication of these excursions to Miller, that's for sure. Now, before you start yelling-"

Yaz was furious. The moment she decided to come forward with an assault charge and a piece of evidence to link directly to the killer, DI Hardy had known exactly what she was going to tell him before she came in the room. This was why women were so afraid to report attacks, and he was only increasing her fear. Not only did he already know what she was going to report, but he had solidified her suspicion in Susan and brushed her report aside. 

"You listen here," Yaz leaned over his desk. "I don't care how much of an arsehole you're pretending to be in human form, I don't care what kind of persona you've created here. But the Doctor I was getting to know, my Doctor, she would care if her companions were in danger. If their lives were threatened. You don't get to belittle me, strip me of my title and then brush my allegations aside if I'm gonna carry on working with ya." 

DI Hardy looked at her, his chest heaving as he took in her fury, but he seemed to be contemplating something. He fished around in his pockets and finally closed his hand over a small object. He opened his palm to reveal...another watch. Just like hers, the same markings, same exact patterns. Yaz sat down next to him, tracing the clasp with her finger gently. 

"How- how did you get this?" she demanded. "That's the watch, that's *her* watch." 

"A man called John Smith passed it on to me," DI Hardy replied. "Before the dance. Seemed to think it was the right thing to do. And I'll give him credit, it was. He came to find me and said that the town barriers weren't as strong as they ought to be for what they were keeping in, not just for what they were keeping out. And yes, I know all about who he is and what he's done. We have- a long and complicated history, me and him." 

"Tell me about it," Yaz rolled her eyes. "The Master, we've met before. He led me on as O, tried to get romantically involved only so he'd break her hearts with her companion. And then, just recently- I'm not sure how much I can tell you. He's a master at psycological torture on your home planet. We found her in the ashes, and I thought- I thought she was dead." 

"I hate to say it, but he's the best hope we have right now," said DI Hardy, rushing to finish his thought off her look. "He seems to be willing to work *with* us on this rather than against us. We'll have to take advantage of that the best we can. Yaz, I need you. You're the only one who can help my future. I need you to understand what I'm giving you to guard. To keep safe." 

"I understand," Yaz nodded seriously. "Of course I do. She told us everything." 

"Everything?" DI Hardy asked, raising an eyebrow. "Did she? Really? Because I don't think she did. You seem far too confident. If she'd really told you everything, she'd have said that she became human before and it almost destroyed her soul. She fell in love with a woman named Joan. She was a nurse up at the school where I took the post. And- I had no idea that I was this traveller in my dreams. It was all a story to me. All fiction. I wrote it down, I drew. That's how I remembered. And then- Martha Jones, oh, she was brilliant. She had the job of executing John Smith. When it was time, John Smith himself had to choose to die so the Doctor could come back. Martha and Joan gave him the strength." 

Yaz stared at him silently. He was so young, this Doctor, so how could it be that his eyes were so old? So full of loss, of family, of love. This- how could her Doctor not tell her about this? That she had fallen in love with a human. That her companion had to sacrifice her. She hadn't told Graham or Ryan, it would be up to Yaz to let them in on it if she found Ryan again after last night. He was being held captive by the Family of Blood, just as Graham had predicted. So much was at stake here, not just the Doctor returning to her own mind. Yaz would have to kill Beth Latimer.

"You alright?" DI Hardy's hand was on hers now, and she jumped. "It's a lot- I know. But I have to be certain my future is in safe hands." 

"Yes," Yaz said shakily. "I- I love her. We all do. We're her family." 

"In that case," said DI Hardy, taking the real watch and placing it in Yasmin's hand. "I think you know what to do with this."

.....

Across town, the caravan huts were swarmed with police cars, all blaring their sirens and rolling up to Susan's place. Beth nervously looked out her window at seeing so many police, something had to have happened. A lead, a clue, anything related to Danny. Her night had been interrupted and she was firmly back in reality, firmly reminded that she was destined to be nothing more than the depressed mum from Broadchurch. Perhaps she should resign to the future of the poor Sandbrooke mum of wine, telly and not leaving the sofa all day. She longed to drown herself in drink once again, the handsome stranger was far too good to last for long. Across town, Nigel Carter had taken Susan Wright's dog into the back of the van labelled Mark Latimer, Pluming Services. His horrible grin bared down on the helpless pup as it whined in fear.

"What are we gonna do with you, then, boy?" he sneered. 

Nigel Carter lifted a crossbow, pointing it directly between the mut's eyes. 

.....

The Master was biding his time. He wanted badly to go across town just to see Beth. To know that she was safe, to be sure that the watch he had given the Family of Blood was fake. And- he wanted to gloat. Of course he did. Gloating was the forefront of his personality. But he waited. He waited because he had one orange pip left, and he dreaded to know what happened at the end of the Family's countdown. He was startled to hear a knock at the door, and even more afraid of who it was when he opened it. Yasmin Khan stood outside, directly facing him for the first time since he had come to Broadchurch. Since he had pretended to flirt with her as O, since he had left her stranded on that plane and tired to kill her. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said. "I need to know why you're here. The truth this time. And if you resist in any way, shape or form, I will come back with a warrant." 

"Picked up some courage on this job, have you?" the Master sneered. "Or perhaps you're jealous that she chose me and not you? You know, I almost feel sorry for you. I get to woo her, you get to execute her." 

"Believe me, I don't want any part in your- wooing," Yaz looked disgusted. "I need to know that we can- trust you. I need to know the Doctor was right." 

"And if she wasn't?" the Master raised an eyebrow. "If you're wondering about last night, I gave the watch to the Family. But it was a fake. A very good fake, one only a time lord would know if they saw it. I managed to distract them long enough to get away. You think any part of this is easy for me? They've been keeping constant watch on me since I arrived, they've been taunting me with a crude countdown to hell knows what. But whatever it is, whenever it is, the Doctor needs to be safe. On that, you have my word." 

Yaz hesitated, then slowly reached into her police uniform and grabbed- the real watch. She sighed, dancing it around in her hands. The Master could feel the instant tug and pull back to his own grip, the snug and comfortable place of his breast pocket right beside his tissue compression. That's where it belonged. He stretched out a hand, offering her a quirked eyebrow. He could tell the girl was hesitating, and rightly so. This was Yasmin Khan giving up the Doctor's execution to her oldest friend. He drew in a long breath of air as the watch landed against his palm once more, his tan fingers curling over the silver surface as he pocketed it immediately. 

"Thank you," the Master said quietly. "I'll keep it safe." 

"It, and her," Yaz reminded him. "That watch- it's a promise. You don't go breaking it, you hear?" 

Yaz glared the Master down as he nodded, his chapped lips licking together nervously. She really was rather intimidating, she had picked up a lot of nerve while looking after Beth Latimer. But suddenly her stance changed- her phone was ringing. It wasn't a normal British ringer either; morse code. The Master had used it more than enough times with the Doctor on Gallifrey, most recently in Paris. She motioned for him to be quiet, holding her breath as she slid across the answer call. The simple morse code beeped across the phone, disturbing and confusing them both. The Master caught on more quickly than she- coordinates. The spaces between the numbers meant something. Someone was trying to get in touch. 

"Coordinates," he whispered. "Someone's phoning in. But that's- that's all the way on the edge of the cliffs. There's nothing there. Nothing except-"

"The cliffside hut," Yaz was stunned. "That's sealed off from the general public, the only person able to get in would be someone who- who had the key before-"

"Oh my god," said the Master.

The killer had phoned in. The killer, whoever it was, was on the line with them now in the Master's tiny hotel room. Yaz sprung into action first, shoving the Master back as she rushed out the door. The sun was setting over the horizon as she frantically shouted into her comms unit for backup, any kind of backup. The Master had never seen one of the Doctors companions run as fast as she did when he moved to the window and saw her sprinting up the street, her speed almost parallel to that of the cop car beside her. He rushed to the door, desperate to do something- anything, only to find it locked. He kicked it in frustration, receiving a scarlet bruise on his ankle in return.

Yaz ran as fast as she could, and couldn't help the thrilling feeling pounding in her heart as she imagined the Doctor beside her, clutching her hand. She ran over hills and through the town square until she finally passed the caravans. DI Hardy and DS Miller were just emerging from the cop car as she jumped over the wired fence, DI Hardy catching up to her to hear the phone signal.

"It's the hut, you're positive it's the hut?" DS Miller exclaimed.

"Of course I'm sure, else I wouldn't have run half a bloody mile to get here, would I?" Yaz shouted.

"Look, theres someone there!" Hardy yelled, pointing just over the bend. "Around the corner, there!" 

"Surround him, F Section, B section, go!" screamed Miller.

Yaz lead the way, looking back worriedly at DI Hardy as he seemed to be slipping behind. She glanced over her shoulder, the back again- the suspect was tall, wearing a black hoodie. God damn it, of course they were. He? It had to be a he. It was too tall and bulky, too speedy, she looked at the ground- why was she doing that? Footprints, her mind was whizzing along as she started to climb the fence he had just disappeared behind. Oh god, he couldn't get away, not now. Why was she hearing a scream in back of her? Had the killer looped back round and attacked one of their men? Keep going, don't be an idiot! She groaned and turned back, only for her eyes to widen again.

DI Hardy was slumping to the ground, his screams echoing around the dark, deserted area. His hand was clutched over his heart, which seemed to be thudding wildly out of control. His vision was growing hazy, his grip failing. He dropped the torch he had been holding as he fell to the ground, DS Miller calling for an ambulance.

DI Hardy was having a heart attack, and the killer had slipped away over the hill.   
.....


	6. Chapter Six: The Skateboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master's identity is exposed to the town and Beth is left to question her loyalties. As the Family of Blood draw closer, the Tenth Doctor confronts his ruthless enemy and offers himself as bait.

Chapter 6: The Skateboard  
AN: I'm so sorry this chapter isn't out sooner guys, I had it all typed up and then my computer decided to crash and loose all my work! So frustrating. I promise Chapter 7 will be up next week!  
......  
The Master had spent a lot of time in his hotel room alone as of late. He had not been expecting the events of the village fete at all in the way the occurred. In his mind, it would be a nice, quiet evening with Beth Latimer that might end in something more. Instead, as it always went with him, it had been a disaster and he had nearly gotten the town of Broadchurch killed by the Family of Blood. He knew the Family were watching him, he knew the scarecrow outside his room never moved for fear that he would leave and get cozy with Beth Latimer once more, forcing her further and further into this story she had built for herself, this lie of a human life. She believed it so much, the Master knew it would be heartbreaking to take it away from her. To say that none of it was real. But that was his duty, that was why she had called him here. He frequently took the watch out of his breast pocket to trace the handle, just to hear her voice. Her smooth, silky voice 'Not the time, keep me close, keep me hidden.' And so he did.

But he kept himself hidden as well. He knew the town was starting to grow more and more suspicious of him, Becca Fisher always told patrons before they stayed for an extended period that there was a strange man in room 13 called John Smith, and it would be best for them to avoid him the most they could. Who knew where he came from or what he would do to the innocent bystander after what had happened at the dance? And, another reason altogether for the Master staying in, he was down to only one orange pip. He had refused all of Becca Fisher's attempts to clear the tray from his room, accepting the new amenities she kindly bought for him from the pound store down the street. The Master wasn't stupid, in fact far from it. He knew the locals whispered about him behind their hands, wondering where he must have come from and what had caused him to come to Broadchurch in the middle of a murder case. What had been his motivations to take a visit when an eleven year old boy had died? And why was he so close with the child's mother?

True, the Master was never one for building his reputation among humans when he could help it. In fact, he truly despised the process of becoming Harold Saxon, making all the false memories of his human persona, first class degree from Oxford, a prime example of everything an outstanding British Citizen should be. Something the lesser could look up to and aspire to be, a charming smile, a handsome rouge elected for the Houses of Parliament, and eventually, he worked his way up to Prime Minister with the perfect, beautiful wife by his side. Lucy Saxon. Oh, those were the days. He often referred to Lucy as his golden girl in polite company, but secretly it was exactly how he saw her. The perfect trophy wife, nothing more than a status symbol on his road to power. As he lied in his comfy bed decorated with rustic, old sheets and a velvety red throw blanket, he smirked to himself as he counted down the minutes. A knock on the door distracted him from his reminiscing. 

"Oi, sunshine, if you've got a minute, there's something quite important going on down in the town square," Graham O Brian said, raising an eyebrow at his state. "You haven't been out of here ever since the dance, don't think the rest of us haven't noticed."

"Really?" said the Master, uninterested. "I was under the impression the town of Broadchurch viewed me as the disgusting immigrant hitting on Beth Latimer from the newspapers." 

"Well, you ain't wrong," said Graham sympathetically. "But they seem to really want you outside- there's a small gathering. They're growing quite reckless if you ask me." 

The Master raised an eyebrow, who outside could want him? He groaned and straightened himself out before clambering out of bed to the window, rushing to see what was immediately below him. The scarecrow was gone. Strange- it usually kept a constant guard over him, day in, day out. Perhaps something was going on. The Master sighed and picked up his purple jacket, the hilt of the tissue compression resting comfortably against his chest. He gave Graham a friendly nod as he left the room, dancing up and down in his shoes as he paced around outside the hotel room. Debating what to do. If Graham's information was to be reliable, the Family of Blood was in the town center, and there was every chance Beth could be there. 

He sighed, twisting his neck and cracking his shoulder muscles before setting off down the narrow, cobblestone street to whatever fate awaited him. As he reached the town center, pushing through the hustle and bustle of the local Broadchurch residents who greeted him with their usual whispers and glaring, he saw exactly what Graham meant. The Family were perched on top of the highest fountain in the town center, the Mother, Son, Father and Daughter all forming a blockade around Ryan Sinclair as he struggled to get loose from Mother of Mines grip. Mother of Mine gave a rather nasty smile upon seeing him, the stage had been ready and waiting. The Master loved to make an entrance, but he hated being upstaged. 

"Ah, how lovely of you to join us," said Mother of Mine. "As you can see, we started without you. I'm terribly sorry our little meeting at the dance got cut off, but I thought, what better way to continue it than in front of all the innocent Broadchurch residents, who I'm sure are itching for an exclusive to just who you are."

"I'm afraid I don't agree," the Master growled, a hand on top of the pocket with the tissue compression, just to know it was there. "But like everyone else, I'm sure you've got questions. This isn't the first time I've ended up on the short end of the stick because of her. I'd be more than open to polite conversation."

"Oh, we're done talking, Mr. Smith," Mother of Mine snarled. "You think you've got us cornered, all worked out. You think the Doctor will be safe and sound because you're here facing us instead. But after the dance last night, we know everything that's going on here. We know there's two Doctors, we know what they've done, and we know you have the watch. Now, are you going to make it nice and easy for yourself and give us the watch now?"

"Give me a reason why I should," the Master tilted his head, considering her proposal. "I really do think we could be allies if the situation presented itself. You're much better off working with me than against me, you see."

"From what we can see, you don't have any power here," Mother of Mine chuckled. "Not over the Doctor, not over the town, and not least over yourself. You're always the most comfortable with an army, aren't you? Where's your backup?"

"None," the Master said truthfully, spreading his arms. "I work alone. Better that way. Now tell me, what do you have to offer me in exchange for that watch? Because unless I'm mistaken, your goal here is to break me down into a snivelling mess. And that, I'm afraid, I cannot afford to happen."

"You want a bargain?" Mother of Mine laughed. "Very well. Here's your deal. Either you give us the watch now and surrender yourself to us entirely, no plans or backup weapons, mind you, or we kill this Doctor's little companion right here in broad daylight. This town's already got enough murders on their hands, wouldn't you say? I'd hate for a racial meaning to be added, such a shame that would be."

"He doesn't care about the kid," chimed in the little girl, which the Master thought was quite rich coming from her. "He's in love with Beth Latimer. I saw them together at the dance, heard them talking."

"Even better," Mother of Mine looked elated at this new information. "I had no idea the Master had a heart. How gratifying that we'll be the ones to shatter any remorse you might have found at the hands of the Doctor. So. What do you think? Surrender yourself now and save the Doctor a future heartbreak? Or let Beth Latimer die? Your choice."

"Oh no," the Master smiled gently. "No, you've got that wrong, I'm afraid. It's not my choice. By all means, I surrender. But what will you do with me, hm? The last pure time lord left in the universe? There will be bounty hunters, presidents and kings all out to find me."

"You see this?" Father of Mine said to the crowd. "This is who John Smith really is. Do you see the riddles in which he speaks? The lies he weaves, twisting himself further and further into your stories and your identity? Do you really trust that he's safe around your children? Do you really think he's just here on coincidence?" 

"John," said Mother of Mine, tilting her head. "I have a little idea. A proposition, if you will. If you wish to keep the Doctor safe, still, after all the times he's betrayed you, I think- you should...kneel."

The Master's hearts stopped. How could the Family have found out about what he made the Doctor do? This was reverse psychology, this was more than cruel. Pathetic, in his eyes, but all the same, he couldn't stop the effect it was having on the town. Everyone hated him already, the tall, dark stranger who seemingly dropped in from nowhere. What better way to get them all on the same page than humiliating him in front of everyone, just like he'd done to her?

"Kneel," Mother of Mine repeated. "And tell everyone who you really are. What your true purpose in Broadchurch is. Perhaps then- they'll see that you're truly innocent in the murder of Daniel Latimer. Which, of course, is what you want. Isn't it?"

Damn. The Master couldn't argue with her on this, she did have a rather good point. He could feel the lump in his throat shift, his eyes wide and darkening at her command. This was how the Doctor looked in front of him in the hot, sweaty Gallery, her blonde hair trembling around her face and the sliver of her neck twitching in humiliation. It had been sweet, sweet victory at the time for him. But now- now his hands shook, the strands of hair around his eyes falling out of place. No, he would not yet use the tissue compression. They hadn't made themselves out to be a threat just yet, this was simply playing with him. Humiliation tactics. He swallowed a lump in his throat and slowly knelt to one knee on the ground, amidst murmurs from the crowd.

"Good, good," Mother of Mine chided, almost babying him. "And your name, darling."

"My name," the Master hissed through gritted teeth. "Is the Master. I am not here to murder Daniel Latimer, nor to seduce Beth. I am not here to spy on your children, or to infiltrate this town's 'generous' community. I'm here- because the Doctor called me. She was scared, and she asked. And I have been protecting her. I did not kill Daniel Latimer."

"Indeed," Mother of Mine nodded. "How convenient that the generous community thought to inform the Latimer family of what was happening here today, and invited them to come along. Perhaps Beth can judge for herself what she thinks of you."

The Master's smile faded, his hearts sinking in his chest as he spotted Beth's brown hair and red dress in the crowd, standing next to her teenage daughter. Why hadn't he seen her before? This would break her, and it was her the Master was worried about, not him. He was sure all the Family wanted was to beat him up a bit, tease him and taunt him in front of the crowd. All of which he could handle, but their tactic switched between time lords. DI Hardy was already broken, there wasn't much left for them to do. But the Master was a different case. 

"John Smith," Mother of Mine jumped from the fountain edge, starting to pace around him. "The mysterious stranger appearing not a week after the murder of twelve year old Daniel Latimer. His timings are very suspicious, don't you think? What did you all think when you saw him arrive? No connections, and suddenly, he's surrounding the Latimer household, seducing Beth Latimer." 

"No, that's not what happened," the Master tried to call for calm against the growing heckling from the crowd. "Tha's not- tha's not what happened! I never seduced anyone, she came to me. We- we found each other." 

"I see," Mother of Mine tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Knowing full well that Beth Latimer was a married woman with two children, one recently deceased, you decided to take a chance on the English Rose you'd seen in all the newspapers and television broadcasts. Can't blame you, she's a right catch, isn't she? But by doing so, aren't you subjecting yourself to the same adultery committed by Mark Latimer? Perhaps- perhaps this is a ploy to distance Mark Latimer from the murder by suggesting yourself as bait!"

The Master frantically tried to think of something to deter this new train of thought, but everyone gathered in the courtyard seemed to already have made their minds up about him. They were whispering to one another as they started to disperse and trickle out. Mother of Mine walked over him, her heeled shoes clicking on the cobbled ground as she touched a finger to his chin and tilted his head up. The Master had never felt more humiliated than in that moment, on his knees with the stones starting to dig into his skin, his every move watched by hundreds of people.

"I think we're done here," said Mother of Mine. "Don't you?"

Father of Mine gave a satisfied smile as she returned to them and without a word, they gathered themselves and took Ryan down from the fountain. The Master's chest was heaving as his cheeks burned in the hot afternoon sun, sweat starting to soak through his hair as he watched them disappear. A new set of footsteps came up to him, his head tilting up very slightly when he was offered a small, pliant white hand. The Master hesitated, then took it gently as Beth Latimer helped him up. Chloe Latimer almost looked guilty about what they had just watched.

"Thanks," the Master muttered, brushing his hair in front of his eyes in attempt to hide.

"No worries," Beth gave a sad smile. "You alrigh'?" She went too far. I knew once they got up there they wanted you, but- I had no idea why. Is it true? Is it true who you are?"

"I-" the Master sighed, eventually giving in with a nod. "I'm not John Smith, and I'm absolutely not human. I'm sorry, Beth. I lied to you. The Doctor asked me to help- and I came. But- I didn't expect to...to fall in love."

"You- you love me?" Beth's eyes widened. "But- the dance, why did you leave so quickly? I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"Not at all!" The Master exclaimed, Chloe's face lighting up in an 'I-told-you-so' way. "I needed to make sure the Doctor was safe, and the only way I could do that was making sure you got home to your family and I was far away."

"Why d' you keep talking about this Doctor?" Beth was wringing her hands now in stress, her expression crumpled. "Why d'ya keep coming to me like I can do somethin' about it??"

"Because," the Master said with a deep breath. "Because you're the Doctor." 

He shouldn't have said it. He didn't know what made him say it. The Family of Blood were far enough away by now, at least they wouldn't have heard the small utterance of truth. Beth's expression twisted to one of utter fear, her eyes growing wide as she grabbed Chloe and steered them both away from the Master. He stumbled over his words, his hands starting to shake in desperation.

"Beth! Beth, please! I'm trying to protect you!"

"Tough," Beth snarled. "That woman was right. I've been through hell evah since ya' arrived. So far, all ya've done is break up my family." 

"You did that to yourself!" the Master snapped. 

It was too late. The words left his mouth as Beth was walking away, only causing her to speed up her pace and throw a protective arm around Chloe. The Master was left quite alone in the village square, a sad, lonely man. No friends in this town who could help him. No family. Home planet razed to the ground, left with nothing but his head filled with insanity.  
.......

The Master had been sitting at the furthest table from the bar, waiting for Graham to be done with his shift before he cornered him. He could sense that Graham and Becca Fisher had been getting closer and closer by the day, but he knew plenty of women like Becca before. He had been like her once upon a time, when he was in his female incarnation. Missy was fairly attractive, and usually had her choice of who she shagged at the end of the day. Becca was much the same, but somehow Graham was too blind to see this sad reality. Once he saw that Graham was done with his shift and heading to the door, he stopped the older man in his tracks, not bothering to look up from his tea.  


"Look, Graham, Becca Fisher is way out of your league," he cut straight to the point, never one for emotional relation. "Now I know you have every reason not to talk to me, but if you want to save yourself a lot of time and pain where you could be looking for looking for Ryan." 

Graham froze in his tracks, clearly deciding if it was a good idea to talk to the Master or not. He finally gave in, his eyebrow raised as he turned round and slid out the wooden chair from the table, helping himself to a biscuit. 

"Alright then, give me the worst," Graham sighed. "An' how did you know I've been looking for my grandson?"

"C'mon, it's not exactly a secret, is it?" the Master sighed. "I see you out my window every morning, exactly half six before your work shift begins, you have an early breakfast and pop down to the sea. You're looking in the right direction, I reckon. Just not quite there yet. As for Becca Fisher, the woman runs a hotel, Graham. Do you really think she doesn't get thousands of blokes just like you coming up to her little check in desk who might take her fancy? She's got her pick on anyone who comes in this hotel, you're not the first, and you won't be the last she goes to meet by the little fountain in the town square. Seems to be quite a popular assembly spot."

"Hadn't thought of that," Graham mumbled. "Listen, you didn't deserve that. What the Family did to you back there, it weren't right. You've already been marginalized and cast out by just about everyone in this town. You're more intelligent than half the people here, I reckon. Maybe even her. I saw how far back you both go when you told us who you really were. She got all starry eyed, never talked about anything else. She went looking for you, you know." 

"She what?"

The Master was silent for a moment, touched. He took a long sip of his tea, watching the milk swirl around in the bottom of the cup as the steam cooled off the edge. He'd never once considered that the Doctor would be looking for him after what he'd done to Gallifrey. He rather thought that she'd want him out of her life forever, and with good reason. This had always been the case in the past, they fought, the universe was put in deadly compromise, and they went their separate ways, usually not ending up in his favor. But this time, just maybe- this time was different. 

"Didn't think she would," he said quietly. "Didn't think she'd care enough. M' only here because she called me and asked for my help, as you heard me tell the Family. This town is hell for me. You think I don't hear Becca Fishers racist little comments every time a new guest is checked in? 'Oh, I hope you don't mind sirs and madam, but there's an Indian bloke staying on the second floor, he won't be here long, I'm sure.' You think I don't see the people whispering at each other, questioning where I might be from? I didn't choose this face. Everything I am- it's because of her."

"Those files on the Doctor," said Graham, considering this new information. "They were of your past with her, weren't they? The ones you were going to show me in your house?" 

"Parts of them," the Master shrugged, a little smirk forming. "Well, I had to make it seem like that precious information had taken all of O's pathetic human life to gather, because, of course, it would. Me and the Doctor go way back. Our childhood on Gallifrey is older than some of the burnt out stars in the night sky. You *did* want to see in the files, then. I knew I hadn't imagined it. How was the tea she made?"

"If you can call it tea," Graham chuckled, the Master allowing himself a small laugh. "Utterly abysmal. She weren't lying about 'possibly.' Of course I wanted to see the bloody files! D'you know how infuriating it is when we ask her all these ordinary questions, right, and she snaps us down or just stares into space like she didn't hear is in the first place. Go on then. How long have you known her? School crush, was it?"

"Could say that," the Master admitted. "Though admittedly more on her part than mine. I never felt at home on Gallifrey. That was always her world. Her family, her creation. I never knew how right I was until I saw what was hidden in the Matrix. What was always hidden in the Matrix. The truth of Gallifrey, the timeless child. She always acted like she was so above everyone, even after she left the godforsaken planet. And she was. She always was. I wouldn't be alive today without her damn mother exploiting her energy. You don't tell her any of this."

"No," Graham agreed, shaking his head. "She's had enough trauma as it is. That's for you two to discuss. But- I don't understand. Why did you do it? Why did you burn Gallifrey if it was your home too?"

The Master cast his gaze to the floor, as though there was something very interesting that he was pretending to look at. He'd never gotten frank with a human about the insanity that haunted his mind. Never had a conversation with one about his murder sprees, never taunted anyone but the Doctor about that little, ecstatic buzz he felt perpetuate his hearts when he killed and saw the life leave someones eyes. But Graham was different. Graham wasn't like her other little pets. They were so egotistical, the lot of them. Once the Doctor dangled the TARDIS key into their waiting hands, they followed him like a puppy dog and gained access to the universe.

But Graham wasn't like the others. He was intelligent, for one thing, and seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. His grandson was far more important to him than the Doctor, and the Master didn't see him as a threat. In fact, he was almost sure Graham knew he wasn't the first to travel with the Doctor, and wouldn't be at all offended if she told him so. It was unusual to the Master, this new team structure of hers. In the past, the Doctor liked to work alone with the consorts of Rose Tyler and Martha Jones. Now, she had chosen three unlikely people who had a past and lives that they deemed more important, but travelled to keep her company. Perhaps- Graham would understand him.

"Just- standing there, in the flames," the Master swallowed. "I realized what I'd done. What I'd destroyed. The golden fields we used to run across as children, the alleyways we skipped classes, the cottage we hid away from everything. I burnt it all, but- the rage, the pain- it never left. I thought it'd be gone. I thought- surely, after that...but it was still there. Still lurking. Even now- she made me the way I am. I didn't choose this face, you think I don't hear the racist comments from everyone in this bloody town? Hear what Becca Fisher whispers about a foreigner sharing the hotel, is that all right, thank you very much? Everything I am now, it comes from her." 

"I reckon," said Graham carefully. "That's not true. I think- you're better than that." 

"Why?" the Master asked, raising an eyebrow.

"She called you for help, didn't she?" Graham said, getting up to leave. "You're here."

With that enigmatic note, as was typical from what the Master had seen so far of Graham, he pushed back his chair and wrapped his jacket around himself. The Master stirred the metal spoon around his now cold tea, a shiver running through his spine as the door slammed shut with the icy sea breeze.  
.....  
Alec Hardy had never been worse for wear. Since he had collapsed, he had been cooped up in hospital amidst visits from Miller. He had half expected that Yaz girl to turn up and taunt him with seedless grapes as well, but there was no sign of her. He almost felt guilty, she would be taking on twice the workload, which was exactly what he promised wouldn't happen now that he trusted her and what her purpose in Broadchurch was. As soon as he came into the Broadchurch Police office, a hand over his heart, Miller rushed over to him, her expression stern.

"No," she said at once. "No, sir, you can't be here, you're forbidden to leave bed rest!" 

Hardy ignored her and left her fuming with silent anger, instead choosing to go see Yaz in the back of the room. This seemed to make Miller even more angry with him, and she left with a huff to go question Susan. Hardy sat down, his hand clutching the heart he had let them work on, his regneneration already starting to wear a bit thin. He could feel the energy coursing through him as his body recalibrated. 

"Right," said Hardy. "You'll be doing Susan's questioning with Miller while I take Nigel Carter. She hasn't been cooperative yet, but that should all change now we've found her bastard dog alive and well. We're so close to the murderer, Yaz. I can feel it, I can sense it. One of them knows something, they're just too scared to come forward." 

"It better be them, sir, else you'll have had everyone in Broadchurch under that tape recorder and hardly anything to show for it," Yaz replied with a sigh. "Susan knows my motives now, she won't want to talk to me at all. Your heart. How is it? You really shouldn't be here, Miller's right." 

"Sorry, did you just say Miller's right?" DI Hardy asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"I think so, but you won't be hearing it again from me," Yaz cracked a smile, the two women's grudge against each other was well known in the office.

"As for my heart, it could be better," DI Hardy said, almost conversationally. "I let the doctors work on the left one, the one on the right is still beating just the same. DI Hardy, the real DI Hardy had health problems, I had to incorporate some of them into my own body while I kept him in the TARDIS so it wouldn't look so suspicious. His wife's already suspected something's wrong, I assume that's why his daughter's not been returning any of my calls." 

"Right," Yaz said, trying to keep up as his human form talked a million miles an hour, very similar to her Doctor. "But, sir, why've you put me with Miller? She never listens to what I have to say, you know that." 

"She believes you to have wormed your way in like the rest of the office unfortunately does," DI Hardy sighed. "It's your job, and only your job, to convince her otherwise. Prove her wrong. I know you're capable of better." 

Yaz nodded, swallowing down a breath she didn't know she was holding. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, giving DI Hardy a wink as she slipped into the interrogation room, ready to show Miller that she was just as capable of the job. It was a grueling session, the things they learned with their combined tactics surprised both her and Miller. Susan seemed astonished herself that she had said them, but seemed to decide it was for the best. It was enough evidence to put Nigel Carter under further suspicion and let her free, reuniting her with her dog. Yaz was thrilled to be given this task by DI Hardy, as the dog was already friendly with her and wouldn't startle or scare easily. She had never seen an animal more happy than when she handed the leash to Susan.

"You did well in there," Yaz said with a kind smile. "I know it's intimidating. Having your past used against ya. They did it to me my first week on the job." 

"I can tell where you've picked up your police skills, that Miller's got a good head on her shoulders," said Susan as she looked out at the sea. "Don't think I'll be seeing this much more after I take off. Nigel threatened me the other night. Said if I stayed in Broadchurch any longer, he'd kill me." 

"And you didn't think to tell us this in the room?" Yaz raised an eyebrow incredulously, it was always one more thing with these people. "You can't leave Broadchurch. You've been here so long, it's been your entire life. Your caravan, it's covered all over with bits of your history. No one can just take that away from you." 

"That's the point," Susan sighed. "Been here *too* long. My history's all over this bloody town, and if I'm not careful, who knows what they'll dig up. Your hat. You left it on the chair." 

Susan fished around in her jacket for the white and black striped police hat Yaz had left the day Susan had moved to attack her with a shovel. Yaz nodded with a nervous smile and tried to wave her off, but ended up giving an awkward shake of her head as she watched the old woman lead her dog over the hillside. There were times during this taxing, every day office work that she had to keep reminding herself what it was for and who she was protecting. Any day now, she knew the Doctor, her Doctor, was going to crack under emotional strain and pressure. It kept getting worse and worse, not better as Yaz had hoped. 

"Don't be nice to them." 

Yaz jumped and whirled around as DI Hardy appeared at her side. Jesus Christ. He had an uncanny ability of doing this, Miller always hated it when he came in silently and she was making her daily tea. 

"You've got to stop sneaking up like that," she snapped, softening when she saw how weak he was. "Get anything off Nigel Carter?"

"Not enough," Hardy replied through gritted teeth. "But we're close. So close, I can feel it. One more interview, one more. It's someone we've overlooked, it has to be. Right here under our noses the entire time. Whoever they are, they're very good at hiding, I'll give them that. I'm putting you in charge of the cliffside hut today. We need to guard the area and make sure no one gets in. If someone does try to break in, theres a very good chance that they're our killer." 

"And where the hell do you think you're going?" Yaz said, her eyes wide as he started to hobble off in another direction.

"I've got an interview with the Broadchurch Echo," said Hardy, strained. "And after that, I'm going to meet the Family of Blood. Offer myself up instead."

"You can't!" Yaz exclaimed, alarmed. "That's suicide! With your heart, sir, that much stress will kill you!"

"If that's what it takes!" Hardy shouted back, his limping form already disappearing over the hill.  
.....

Alec Hardy had never been more determined in his life. He was nearing the end of his regeneration, he knew as soon as he had heard the distant song of Ood Sigma coming closer every night. Closer and closer, louder and louder, the sweet, echoing music. But he had to fight it off. He couldn't give in to the siren's song, not yet anyway. There was one more thing he had to do; he had to secure his future. He had to know where he was going. It broke his hearts seeing "Beth" like this, and he was more affected than most, as it was his future he was seeing. He hadn't been sure about the young girl at first, but once she had proved herself to him and explained why they were there, he reasoned that it was much the same reason he was. It was growing increasingly hard to keep in character with her every day, he wanted nothing more than to whisk her away for an adventure.

But that was for his future self to do. Leave the adventure to her. He wondered what this Doctor was like. What she had seen across the stars that made her hide away, what the Master could have done in terms of redemption that made her call him for help, of all people. He was still infuriated with the Master and what he had done in the year that never was, what he'd forced upon the human race on Utopia. What regeneration was this suave, mysterious version? Was he the future of the blonde who seemed to never run out of ways to annoy him for attention? Had *he* had time to reflect, had *he* made sacrifices to save the Doctor's future self? The thoughts swirled around in his head as he left the Broadchurch Echo, hoping he gave them enough to think about for a long while. 

Anything to distract members of the public long enough to keep the case going. Alec had another destination, even though his body was practically screaming to drag itself back to the shabby room in the Traders. Come to think of it, the Master was in the Traders, wasn't he? Why hadn't the he thought before now to go up to his room and ask him all of this himself? Fear, the Doctor was forced to admit. But he was slowly getting over the fear of his future, one step at a time as he made his way to the Family of Blood's hide out. Along the way, he passed the church, raising an eyebrow as he saw Coats on another midnight stroll, carrying something very heavy.

He thought nothing of it, simply continuing along the path. There were more important things right now. He finally reached the hideout that he had seen Graham track down every morning, waiting outside for one of them to show themselves. Eventually, he was disappointed as Daughter of Mine appeared instead of Mother of Mine. 

"You're the Doctor," she said sweetly. "Have you come to surrender from the Master's advice?" 

"Isn't it past your bedtime?" the Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Worth a try. You're right. I am the Doctor, and I've come to turn myself in. Could I trouble the rest of the family to get a look? I'm sure they'll want to scan me so you're sure I am who I say."

He gave a big, goofy grin that usually made kids feel more assured around him, but her stern expression never changed. The Doctor sucked in a breath of air, clutching his left heart with one hand as the little girl nodded and motioned him to follow her into a deep trench in the Earth. He coughed as he got deeper and deeper into the cavern, his bad eyesight making him squint along the sudden green lighting. It seemed that they had rebuilt their ship from when he'd blown it up in the 1900s, and hadn't done a bad job on it either. 

"Nice paint job," he said conversationally. "Got rid of all the dangerous buttons this time round, I gather." 

"Unsinkable this time, I'm afraid," Mother of Mine smirked as she turned around, speaking before he could tell her his thoughts on the word 'unsinkable.' "Now, I would presume that you've come to hand yourself over nice and easy. But judging by what happened in the courtyard today, and what Daughter of Mine informed us of Beth Latimer meeting the Master after we cornered him, I'd say not." 

"However," Father of Mine said. "We wouldn't protest a scan. We know your methods this time, Doctor. We know you've become human, and therefore have decided to use the fob watch to protect yourself. Why hand yourself over willingly if you're in human form?"

"Well, that's the question, isn't it?" the Doctor grinned, spreading his hands. "Scan away, go on!" 

Mother of Mine cast him a suspicious glance, bustling over between Father of Mine and Son of Mine to an immense row of complicated alien machinery that looked rather like the Doctor's TARDIS. His mind was whirling as he tried to work out what each button did before she pressed a huge green button and a blue light scanned him; he could feel the waves of technology go over both his hearts and binary vascular system.

"Time lord," she confirmed. "You are the Doctor we faced then. Why hide yourself away? Why not come sooner?"

"I'm here now," the Doctor said. "Offering you a choice, and a chance. A choice of mercy. A chance to let my future self go. I know you've got one of her companions locked up round here, smart move not showing him to me. But I offer you myself now. Spare her the pain, take me instead. You've got everything you need right here, don't you? Surely there's no need to go after her." 

Mother of Mine whispered with Father of Mine, both of them sounding very agitated and strained in their arguments, their voices rising and falling with the hum of the machinery. The Doctor paced back and forth, taking everything in. It was the future of the Family of Blood too, of course, after they had escaped their imprisonments he had enforced upon them. He glanced around the cavernous space, looking in any hidey holes or secret spots he could see in his line of vision, but Ryan didn't seem to be in the cave at all upon his entry. He knew the outcome wasn't good when Son of Mine approached with a slim smile.

"Tell me, Doctor," he said. "Did you show us any mercy? Wrapped Father of Mine in iron chains at the heart of a dwarf star, didn't you? Trapped Daughter in every mirror for the rest of her life, bless. Threw Mother into a black hole and turned me immortal. You think we'll forgive you for those crimes? You think you deserve penance?"

"I think," said the little girl with a nasty smile. "If you want to get back in one piece, you should run. Run back to your little police station and tell them all about the alien family in the woods. No one will believe you. We don't accept your offer, Doctor, because you never accepted ours." 

The Doctor was thoroughly disappointed, but bowed his head without a word. He thought it best to do as the little girl advised, and as he reached the entrance of their cave, he did what this incarnation of the Doctor did best. With a last look into the cave where he knew Ryan was waiting to be rescued, he ran back over the hill, leaving his future behind.  
.....  
The Master was growing restless. He was fairly sure that he had blown his one shot of convincing Beth Latimer that he was there to save her, not seduce her. The Doctor was relying on him for help, this was a chance for his acceptance. He traced the watch as he lay awake in bed late that night, hearing the footsteps of Alec Hardy as he came back to the Inn from god knew where at that time of night. Once he was sure that the footsteps had gone, he flung himself over his bed and shrugged on his fancy purple jacket; he always did feel more comfortable in suave clothing. It gave him an air of mystery. 

He wasn't sure just where he was going, but he aimlessly found himself walking along the path where he met Beth Latimer and saved Chloe from falling. How badly had he fucked things up? He was supposed to support her, supposed to listen, supposed to protect her from the family. They were hiding out here now, somewhere in the dark trees, plotting how to best kill her, and he was doing...nothing. What *could* he do? Why had she called him? He traced the watch with his thumb, the cool grey surface familiar and comforting to him. If he listened very, very closely, he could almost hear the comforting noise of her two heartbeats. Or perhaps it was his own beating wildly against his chest. He longed to hear her voice again, her smooth, husky voice coming from the watch, warning him, but he dared not open it. 

He was approaching the cliffside hut as the moon touched the highest point in the sky, illuminating the area. A wolf cried in the distance; the Master had never felt more alone as he looked out at the waves. He presumed that he was standing a short distance away from where Danny had died. And suddenly, he felt horrible for trying to distract Beth from the grieving process of losing a child, albeit a fictional one. Something in the distance caught his attention however, a short rustle of movement just over the first hill. A small wooden barn stood in the very back, which he knew contained the Doctor's TARDIS.

The Master made himself as quiet and invisible as he could, treading silently over the grassy moor as he moved swiftly towards the barn. Someone was here, a tall man, it had to be a man, covering his head with a grey jacket. The man held a flashlight and was tramping around the shed, trying to get in. No; he had already found a way in, the Master noticed, and was trying to close the shed to hide what he'd found. The man whirled around upon sensing another presence, setting his eye line directly on the Master, who froze in place when he realized the gravity of the situation.

This man was trying to get into the TARDIS. This man was just a few steps away from the cliffside hut, where this man had committed the murder of Daniel Latimer. The Master had found the killer before the Broadchurch Police department, who were all too far away to help from this deserted area. Joe Miller made his way over the hill towards the Master, who started to run before his brain caught up with his body's movements. His hand rested over the hilt of the tissue compression, but it was too late, he heard footsteps behind him. Running footsteps, getting closer and closer. His body weight was more than Joe, he could easily tackle him to the ground, but Joe was taller and leaner, with a streak of murderous intent. 

Before the Master knew what was happening, he had been bowled to the ground, Joe knocking him dangerously close to the cliffside edge. He panted for breath as Joe held him down with immense strength the Master didn't know he was capable of, knocking the wind out of him and certainly damaging a few of his internal organs in the process. Gods- if he wasn't careful here, he could end up just like Danny. What was wrong with him? Shoot him, god damn it, shoot him! 'Not the time,' the watch whispered in his head. 'Keep me close...keep me hidden.' Her voice calmed the racing of his hearts as he looked into the murderous face of death. 

"Not a word," Joe ordered, his voice deep as he held a knee to the Master's chin. "Not a word to Beth- to the police. You know what I did, I can see it in your eyes. You don't tell them, and I let you go tonight. I don't kill you if you don't breathe a word." 

The Master was fighting for breath as he felt his lungs being crushed by the man's immense weight, frantically nodding in attempt to get him to release. As Joe glared him directly in the eye, he waited for a few seconds for the Master to truly suffocate at his mercy until he lifted himself off. The Master breathed in huge gulps of delightful, fresh, sea air as he stood on wobbly legs. His hearts were beating out of control as he fumbled around in his pockets, not sure what to go for first. The watch to make sure it was still there, it was, the tissue compression to shoot- or his phone for the police. 

But it was too late, he was too slow. The Master cursed as he felt his body switch into overdrive from shock, keeling over at the cliffside edge as the world went hazy and the tall figure of Joe Miller disappeared into the darkness.  
.....


	7. Chapter 7: The Doctor and the Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Master recovers from Joe Miller's attack, the case of Daniel Latimer comes to a shocking conclusion. Yaz and Ellie team up and the Doctor confronts his future. Will he survive this encounter?

Chapter 7: The Doctor and the Detective

The Master didn't wake up until the next morning. His very hazy recollection of what had occurred the previous night would be of very little use to the police, but it was better than nothing. He couldn't understand why he wasn't able to move the majority of his limbs. How hard had Joe Miler hit him and bowled him over? The Master was strongly built, but Joe towered over him with his lean build by a couple feet. The Master soon very quickly realized that he had been left in the freezing cold rain overnight, and no one had been on the path by the cliffside quite yet. This left two possible outcomes. Outcome number one, the police would find him- surely, eventually. He knew they kept a close eye on the cliffside hut day in and day out should the killer choose to return. Outcome number two, an early morning jogger would find him- and- oh *shit!*

Option number two it was, then. He heard the approaching footsteps before he saw her, running at a fast pace, hair blowing around Beth's face her in distress. She was shouting something, had uttered a cracked exclamation he presumed upon seeing him passed out on the ground, his eyes barely flickering open. Her hands were flying over his body now, checking for wounds, for external damage. She was still shouting, what was she saying? His vision was so blurry, he could barely make out the outline of Beth Latimer, let alone hear her through the intense ringing in his ears. 

"John!" Beth's voice said, as if distant, trapped by wind in a bottle. "John, are you alright!? John, talk to me!" 

"Beth-" the Master finally found strength within him to respond, every muscle screaming in agony as he tried to get up. "Beth- it- it was-"

But he couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell the police. Joe had sworn to kill him if he attempted either one of those things. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. He was supposed to be here protecting the Doctor however, and he took comfort in knowing that he had taken the blow instead of her. He didn't want to think about what his own reaction would be if he found *her* splayed out by the cliffside like this, cut and winded, almost keeled over. No, it was much better if he took the blow instead. With her mind muddled up like this, who knew what could trigger a regeneration.

"Shh, don't talk," Beth said, her hands shaking as she decided between checking his body and fishing around in her windbreaker for her mobile. "You're safe now, I'm phoning the A and E. Bloody hell, you're freezing! How long have you been out here?" 

"All- all night," the Master choked; she was right, now that he thought about, it he could feel his lips turning blue and frostbite settling in on his strong, calloused hands. "Attacked- by the hut- bowled over." 

"What?" Beth's voice grew a sudden, sharp edge that he could have sworn he was imagining. "Attacked? You were attacked by the cliffside hut?? The police, they said Danny's- Danny's killer would return to the hut, didn't they? Did- did you see them? Oh my god, did you see the murderer?" 

"Beth," the Master's hands grasped hers, his hearts beating wildly in his chest as his body fought to stay awake. "They would kill me if I said- If I told-" 

The Master was overcome by a sudden fit of coughs and constant shaking, his body freezing even wrapped in his long, suave purple coat. It made him stronger, made him seem more powerful than he was, and certainly made him seem like he had more strength than now. Beth gathered his shaking form in her arms, her voice trembling in fear as she dialed the emergency numbers frantically. It was mere moments before the Master heard the blasting of sirens coming up the long, winding road leading to the beach. He wanted to tell her, wanted to say everything. She deserved to know, *needed* to know. It was her bloody son that was killed, too many lies would overwhelm her.

"Shh, shh, you're alright," Beth ran a hand through his wet, tangled hair, his body shaking and trembling against his will. "The doctors and police are on the way. You're lucky I was able to come out this mornin', I almost didn't get away from me mum's beady eye. Now I'm pregnant, she doesn't want me leavin' the house, see. Had to sneak out the garden." 

"Now you're- what?" the Master felt another rise of panic inside him. 

"Pregnant!" Beth replied, a soft smile spreading across her face at the mere thought. "Oh, I know it's bad timing for you to find out like this. But me and Mark, we just got the scan done this morning."

Fuck. Creative curse words flooded the Master's mind, not just from the pain that was enveloping his entire body, but from this new information hitting him like a wave. Beth, pregnant. The Doctor, pregnant. But she couldn't be. She literally couldn't be. Time lords and humans didn't mix. The Master felt himself being lifted up onto a long stretcher and carried away from Beth, who walked over to be by his side, holding his hand gently. The Master gave it a tight squeeze, his hearts pounding very, very fast. It was fake. All fake. She was heading for even more heartbreak than he could manage. The Doctor had always wanted children.

"No," his voice trembled quietly. "No- you- you can't be." 

"John?" Beth's expression changed in a split second, at once crumpled and almost close to tears, her hands clutching her stomach automatically. "What- what d' you mean? What do you mean!? I have to be pregnant, it showed on the scanner! John! John, what do you mean!?" 

The Master hated this, hated every second of it. The timing, the Doctor's brilliant green eyes sparkling with tears as she looked back at him being ushered into the amblulence. The last thing he saw before his vision went black once more was Beth standing quite alone by the cliffside hut, not far from where Danny had died. Her hands in her hair, an utterly distressed expression across her face. Gods, Doctor, please don't kill him when this is all over. It was the best he could hope for as the medical staff injected him with sharp needles and he was forced asleep, further and further away, obscuring the walls of lies.

.......  
The Master woke up in a white, dull hospital room. Secured to a bed by a few wires leading to a drip machine and a heart monitor. Beth. It was the first thought that entered his head when he came to, she couldn't be pregnant. And he couldn't tell her who had attacked him, even though they had murdered her son. He couldn't tell the police either, if he didn't want Joe to murder him just like he did Danny. He was- incidentally, the only living soul in Broadchurch who knew the murderer of Daniel Latimer's true identity. And he was certainly right in thinking that the police would want to ask him questions. After the nurses came in and changed the drip machine, fussing over the gash wound on his cheek, the Master groaned as DI Hardy stood in the doorway, mercifully alone. 

"How're you feeling?" DI Hardy asked, a slight edge to his voice. "Beth said you were attacked. I'll skip the formalities if you like, but we need to ask you some questions."

"Fantastic," the Master replied, rolling his eyes. "Really lovely. Best day of my life here, I'm sure the nurses will be the finest of chums." 

"Fine then," DI Hardy growled, sitting down next to the Master. "Listen, I won't keep you. I know you don't like the police after the welcome you've had from Broadchurch residents, and I can't say I blame you. They're a nasty bunch, all of them. Tumbling secrets this way and that, they'll all end up destroying themselves soon. I have to ask you. Do you know who attacked you? Did you see anything? Any possible explanation that could help us?" 

"Why would I give it?" the Master raised an eyebrow.

"Beg pardon?" 

"Well, the police aren't the best ally for me either," the Master replied. "Haven't done anything to help the attitude of everyone in town towards me, thinking that this dark skinned man saw Beth Latimer in the papers or on telly and went up to the little sea side resort to rape her and murder others. Even kept me in my hotel room the entire damn time I've been here when you could've just went down the hall to ask." 

"Look, I didn't- I wasn't ignoring you," DI Hardy sighed. "This case is the most important of my career. My- penance. I don't know why I'm telling you any of this, why would you care?" 

"Perhaps I know a bit more than I'm letting on," the Master admitted. "And I think you know that perfectly well. Why else would you give me the fob watch? For gods sake, did you really think I didn't sense you the moment I arrived? I knew there were two time lords hiding out here, it wasn't particularly difficult to work out the link."

DI Hardy almost looked ashamed. He let out a deep, guttarral sigh as he looked at his shoes, as if determined not to look his best enemy in the eye. Maybe if he never met his gaze, it wouldn't be real. But he couldn't look away forever, his chocolate brown eyes slowly drifted across the room, meeting the Master's own. Gods, he was young. Younger than he had ever seen the Doctor in this regeneration. His doctor, she looked young, sure. But when he looked into her eyes, he saw millions of years of regret, so close to crumpling in on herself. 

"I'm here to protect her," Hardy admitted. "Just as you are. I researched everything I could find on your incarnation ever since I arrived in town. I've been studying you from afar. You're so- different. From my master. His glee, his maniac tendencies, his insanity- its in your eyes, I can see it even now. But there's something else. Suaveness, elegance. Something even more deadly." 

"Stop it, I'm blushing," the Master let a grin cross his features. "You're not so bad. I remember all our sweet times together, I really do. Do you remember watching the world burn from the Valliant? Remember when I captured little Martha Jones' family, oh- that made you *beg* for mercy. But I'll tell you something, Doctor. Let you in on a little secret. The future is worse. Much, much worse. Soon, whether you like it or not- a gallery in the 1800s. Oh, what a day that was. I threatened a passing stray, that's all it took. And you ~kneeled.~ In front of everyone, you kneeled for your master. Just as you should." 

"I would never," DI Hardy's voice was on the verge of a deadly growl. "Never in a million years. Master- tell me. Talk to *me* not to Hardy. Do you know who killed Daniel Latimer?" 

"Yes," the Master replied after a long pause. "He attacked me and left me alone on the clifftop. Not a very good look for Broadchurch, is it? A British Indian stranger threatened and passed out, left for dead." 

"Bollocks, you're right," Hardy let his Scottish accent flood into his realization. "The papers will give us hell when this gets out. Master. Who was it? Who did you see?" 

The Master weighed his options carefully. He could see the intensity darken in Hardy's eyes, see the familiar rage of the time lord that he had known so many times before. The Master always liked to make sure he was protected by the most powerful people he could find. As for the Broadchurch Police, could they really keep him safe around Joe Miller, an unstable killer living in disguise among more young children? How many more would he kill if the Master didn't report his actions? How many children would be enough, how many screams, how many wailing, distressed mothers? He felt a chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the freezing hospital room. Joe Miller was what the Master would become if his mind was completely unhinged. 

The children he had let burn in the fire on Gallifrey, he had never quite forgotten just what he had destroyed. The lives of innocents, young and horrible screams flooding through the air as the waves of burning hot fire got closer and closer, collapsing buildings to the ground. He had kept the bodies, just enough to be useful. The adults and the children. But now- perhaps, this would spare the time tots of Gallifrey from an altogether crueler fate for the adults he had planned that they could scarcely avoid. He had killed them without mercy, just like Joe Miller. But perhaps- he could find it within his broken hearts to spare them future pain. To spare other children future pain and spare mothers like Beth from suffering. The Master swallowed down a lump he didn't realize was stuck in his throat.

"A tall man," he said carefully, realizing that there were perhaps two men in Broadchurch that fit this description, and maybe it would be enough so he could avoid being killed. "Six foot. Perhaps taller, I couldn't get a good look at him. Size ten feet, broad, stronger than me. Bald, he was bald- I saw the back of his hood drop as he ran away. Long, jaunting strides, probably left footprints." 

"Master," the Doctor was speaking now, not DI Hardy, the Doctor getting closer to him, with a soft expression. "Please. You can tell *me.* It was dark, you were alone. You must have been terrified. Who attacked you?" 

"This won't get back to the police?" the Master gulped, his hand shaking. "He said- he said he'd kill me. I can't- I need to protect Beth, I need-" 

"Sh, Master, I know," the Doctor soothed him with gentle words. "Tell *me.* Master- do you remember Trovic? I promise, on both my hearts, I will do anything to stop that happening to you again." 

The Doctor had struck a nerve. Trorvic, of course the Master remembered Torvic. How could he forget? The bully from Gallifrey who'd been so horribly nasty to both the Master and the Doctor in their younger years, but seemed to have a streak of evil saved just for the Master. One day, Torvic decided it would be a fun idea to hold the Master's head under water in the river by the Academy until he drowned. No one would miss the Master, he taunted, no one would care. The Master had been so sure that he was right, so convinced by his threats, his words. It affected how he saw Joe Miller, it changed his perception of the murderer of Daniel Latimer, just like all the potential witnesses DI Hardy had questioned. Perhaps he would be next if he told the police, even if he just told the Doctor. The day the Master had nearly drowned changed everything, the Doctor had killed Torvic to protect him. What would DI Hardy do now? 

"Master," the Doctor repeated softly, his chocolate brown eyes calmer than the Master had ever seen. "Please." 

"Joe," the Master said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It was Joe Miller."

A look of pure terror and confusion came over the Doctor's face, mixed with DI Hardy's lines of weariness, as he sat back in his chair. He couldn't deny the name had hit him with a blow, and he was sure that Ellie would be devastated. How could he keep it from her? The Master's hesitation made sense now, his reluctance to tell the police the truth. But he had exceeded the Doctor's expectations, if he was frank, he hadn't been sure the Master would tell him at all. So Joe Miller attacked the Master. Joe Miller had him under the threat of murder if he told anyone. 

"Thank you," the Doctor said, already morphing back into DI Hardy's persona as the Master lay quivering in distress, he needed to assure him he would be safe. "Thank you, you have no idea how much that's helped. The police won't hear a word of this, I promise. But you've pointed us in the right direction."

"What about me?" the Master trembled. "What do I do after I leave hospital? He's killed Danny and he's going to be after me next, he'll know I've told someone. I know how minds like his work, they infiltrate everywhere they possibly can." 

"Stay in the Traders," DI Hardy ordered as he got up. "Keep your room under lock and key, the window too. I'll pass on to Becca to not allow any new clients or strangers inside until we've caught him. Do NOT leave your room until this is all over, Master. Do not leave until we've caught Joe, no matter what other duties you're here to attend to. Understood?" 

The Master's hands were shaking even more now as DI Hardy left the room, making sure that the door was closed tight. DI Hardy didn't see the nurse out in the hallway that he had a nasty suspicion had watched the entire conversation. DI Hardy didn't see her pick up the chord telephone and call someone, which the Master was almost sure to be Joe Miller. 

For the first time since he had arrived in Broadchurch, the Master was very, very afraid.  
......  


The Master was in the hospital for a few days. Mercifully, his injuries weren't life threatening and the cuts and bruises healed very quickly. It was one of the advantages of having a time lord body, even though he utterly despised what had granted him such abilities. Healing quickly was part of the natural cycle. A few days in intensive care ended up being all that the Master needed for his regeneration energy to kick in and heal his tiny cuts and bruises across his cheek and shoulder blades in a short, golden burst of light. Sometimes the golden light lasted the entire day, other times it came in quick bursts and left, sometimes it flooded out of his mouth, as though a deep sigh of pain was relieving itself. For this precise reason, the Master didn't let any of the nurses to touch him, he insisted that he do all the intrusive procedures himself, and managed to impress a few Barts graduates with his precision and knowledge of each machine in the building.

When he was able to return to his hotel room however, he was in a very bad mood. The Master hated being caught unaware, hated when someone took advantage of him, hated when he wasn't strong enough to stand up to the Torvics of the world. The Doctor's very mention of the name had sent the Master into a downward spiral ever since he left the hospital. He snapped at anyone who spoke to him and was very short with Becca Fisher, even when she mentioned that the hotel was not allowing any more guests until the killer was caught. He had gritted his teeth in response and not said a word, he *couldn't* say a word, else he might let his oath to Joe Miller slip and reveal something.

The Master knew how Joe Miller's mind worked, perhaps better than anyone else in Broadchurch. It was that idea that scared him the most. If the Master had ended up killing his childhood bully, would he have turned out just like Joe? Would he murder children under a threat of rape? *You already have.* A tiny, annoying voice in his head floated around, another reason for his frustrations building and building. *You've already murdered hundreds of screaming children. Remember the waves of fire on Gallifrey you set off while they ran and ran? Screaming, screaming.*

"I am NOT that man!!" The Master screamed into his pillow late one night, hurling the breakfast tray across the room until the bits of broken glass shattered across the wall and littered the floor.

A few mutters from other guests told the Master that he had woken up half the people staying in the Traders, but hell if he cared. He was protecting a murderer. He hadn't told the police, not a bit. He'd told the Doctor, and only when the Doctor taunted him with his past. Only when the Doctor dropped all pretense of a figure of authority did he finally break. It had always been that way with them, and the Doctor had played him like a fiddle. He ignored Becca Fisher's footsteps and her whispered threats of throwing him out. He knew she couldn't. The police gave her strict orders to keep the Master inside his room at all times, as he was under threat from someone in town. He appreciated that DI Hardy hadn't told her who, but he knew word about his presence here would get out sooner or later.

Another thing that only added his to his frustrations had been on the first night he returned from hospital, ignoring DI Hardy's concerned glance in the corridor. The five orange pips had run out on his breakfast tray. The Master knew that five orange pips were used in secret societies as a countdown or a warning. Originally, he thought the countdown was meant for him and his demise. But as he grew more familiar with Broadchurch and the nature of the town, he realized the warning wasn't for him at all. It was for the Doctor, a countdown to how long she would have before she was forced to confront the murderer of her son, realize that she wasn't pregnant at all, and have her world come crashing down around her.

"Why me?" the Maser whispered to the shadow of the moon. "Why me, Doctor? You could have had anyone as your executioner. Why me?"

He knew why. She trusted him more than anyone else in the universe, no matter how much she appeared to hate him. But this was crushing his hearts, every day that Beth Latimer and John Smith grew closer and closer, a hint of a smile, a shared flirt, he knew that he could never have the Doctor this way. He had to execute the one part of the Doctor that was beginning to love and forgive him again, which truly, was all he ever wanted. The Master pulled the skin down his face as he covered his eyes with his hands, letting out a soft, long breath which spiraled into the air in a golden flecked stream. He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't be cooped up. It was more than a week gone by now, more than a week of destroying himself from the inside, more than a week of consistent worry about Beth, more than a week of comparing himself to Joe Miller.

He just- he needed, by gods, he needed the Doctor to take the sides of his face and tell him he was NOT like Joe. Perhaps if she said it, he'd believe her. He was having trouble believing himself at the moment. His hands were shaking as he paced back and forth, the familiar wooden floorboards creaking with each step, each doubted movement. He needed to see the Doctor. Beth. He needed to see Beth, needed his confidence back. It would be hard- knowing how close she was to caving in on herself, he knew it would be agonizing to watch. But if they were still anything alike, the Master knew they needed each other as they fell apart.

He flung on his purple jacket, dragging his thumb over his breast pocket just to be sure that the tissue compression was there, and finally set out after all the noise in the Traders had stopped, and he knew Becca had been distracted or gone to bed. The task of getting over to the Latimer's house in the dead of night without being seen was nothing compared to the mountainous task that lay inside.

..... 

The Master was not the only one sleeping rough that particular night in Broadchurch. Joe Miller woke to find his wife's side of the bed empty, her footsteps padding down the hall. She was on a mission to her son's room, his interview with DI Hardy was at 9 o clock sharp tomorrow morning and she needed evidence. Sure, he was almost twelve and potentially could have fetched her this himself, but she was a good mum. She wanted to spare him any pain she could at the police station, and if she could help him in this way then she sure as hell would.

DI Hardy had become suspicious of Tom after learning from the Vicar that he smashed his laptop outside the church one night with a sharp rock. Supposedly, he was hiding evidence of many threatening messages to Danny. Of course Ellie could see how this would look suspicious to the police, but she was sure that Tom was nowhere near the cliffside hut the night of Danny's death. She would have known if any of her immediate family had left the house, Joe fell asleep with her as she took insomnia pills to combat the trip from Florida, and she had tucked Tom into bed. The house was reinforced with a lock and key, including three security cameras. Paranoid, perhaps. But DS Miller liked to take precautions.

She felt the tiniest bit of guilt as she crept around Tom, looking for evidence of the smashed laptop that DI Hardy wanted her to bring in. Joe appeared at the door, whispering in a quiet voice, not wanting to wake Tom in her distressed state, her hair frizzled around her head.

"Elle, it's half two in the morning," he said softly.

"Where is his computer!?" Ellie whisper shouted, causing Tom to twitch.

"Come back to sleep, Elle," Joe sighed.

If Ellie had known better, she would know that going back to sleep with Joe Miller was perhaps the most dangerous thing to do, as was keeping her son Tom in the same home as him. But alas, Ellie Miller did not know better, and she grumbled quietly as her slipper covered feet wandered into the hall, closing Tom's door gently. Tom Miller heard everything, and was secretly glad that he had smashed up his computer two days before. But he wasn't stupid, he knew his mum was involved greatly in the case of Danny's death. They couldn't possibly think him guilty, could they? They wouldn't throw a twelve year old boy behind bars for stupid messages, would they?

The Master was not the only one who had a sleepless night. Tom Miller grew restless in the shadow of the moon, wondering if perhaps he would be jailed for a crime that he did not commit, and be found guilty for the murder of his best friend.

..... 

The Master crept across the high streets of useless antique junk shops as he made his way across town, sticking close to the shadows. As much as he knew, or at least hoped, that Joe Miller was sound asleep in bed, he couldn't be sure that Joe didn't have anyone out looking. If he was a bit more careful, he would have seen Becca Fisher's beady eyes on him in the second floor window, moving to get her cellphone to call someone. His graceful stalking in the shadows was well thought out and well played, even someone walking across the cobblestone street or the moors would not be able to spot any of his movements. He finally approached Beth's house, having memorized the route and taken her jogging path along the cliffside.

He knocked on her bedroom window, which was luckily on the bottom floor of the house after her family had discovered her pregnancy so that she didn't have to move much. She didn't stir. Knocked again, again, each time four raps of his fist on the glass frame. This time, she finally sat up, startled, her eyes wide when she saw her intruder. She rushed over to the window and lifted up the curtains, unscrewing the lock to let the brisk, cold night air flood in.

"What the fuck, John!?" exclaimed quietly. "What are you doing here??"

"Hello to you too," the Master rolled his eyes.

"Yes, many greetings," Beth snapped. "John, you were told to stay in your room under lock and key! DI Hardy told me, he said I wasn't to see you again until they solved the case. You can't be here!"

"Tough," said the Master, already putting a leg on the window to climb in like a teenage boy. "I assume you're going to let me in? Only I've got a murderer after me because- well never mind why. But they've threatened me and I can't stay outside long."

"Jesus- get in."

The Master gave a gentle smirk at her attitude, for a moment there her accent reminded him of the Doctor. He saw so much of the Doctor in Beth, but it was so cruel that Beth was to be the one that fell in love with him. And not even him, really. She fell in love with John Smith, a character he had created on a whim. A character who had visited the town, presumably never to return once he took care of business. But Beth didn't know that this business was her. It was about time she did, he thought. The Master was never one for feelings, so he surprised himself when he realized that Beth was still upset at him for abandoning her at the dance and the things he said in the town square.

His beaten down psyche had snapped at her, never more down on his luck, the weight of entire town on his back and attacking him. But what he'd screamed at Beth was callous, rude and unacceptable. Even if he knew her family was fake to the Doctor. It would only break down her spirit more. It was for that reason he sat with her on the bed, both a few inches apart, neither one wanting to speak first. The Master noticed that her Journal of Impossible Things was left open on the table. Something was wrong here- she would never let Mark see that writing. Did she know he'd come?

"Where's Mark?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Lord knows," she replied, rolling her eyes. "He never spends time in this house if he can help it. Too cramped in. What about me, eh? Stuck here alone with my thoughts. Took advantage of the silence to do some journaling at the very least."

"Beth," the Master said quietly. "I'm sorry. The dance- I had no idea it was going to end that way, I had no idea they'd find me, they're after me, they always are. And-"

"No more lies, John," Beth's voice quivered. "No more- if you love me, if you really do love me- tell me the truth."

"Beth," the Master sighed and took her hand. "Of course I love you. That's why I can't- that's precisely why I can't tell *you* the truth. The attacker... threatened me, you know. After he bowled me over. Said not to tell anyone else who he was, because he'd kill me."

"Oh, John-" Beth's voice hitched. "John, you've got to tell the police. You need to, you've risked enough coming out here to see me. Look- I- the way that woman belittled you, it was cruel. Racist. Humiliating. The entire town's still against ya, you know. You've not exactly done anything to help your reputation here."

"Beth-" the Master tried to finish his thoughts. "When I said that in the square, everything was closing in, I was so stressed, so alone. I knew I had to be here to protect you- to-"

"But I'm not," Beth said, her big, glimmering green eyes meeting his as she moved a brown hair aside. "What did you say? You said- you're here to protect me. Oh my god, that's why you showed up when y' did. It's not- it's not what everyone thinks at all. That attack, that could have been me. The town square, it could have been me. John, I'm so sorry."

"Shh," the Master gently placed a finger on her lips, causing her to jump, her body shivering in the pale moonlight. "Don't be sorry. You don't get to be sorry, Beth. And you won't understand this now- but what I'm doing, I hope you'll remember it later. When you need to most, I hope you'll remember what I've done for you. The things I've said, they were callous and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't forgive me. But I hope you'll realize you aren't alone. Even if you think you might be."

Beth looked extremely confused, her expression stretching across her beautiful, delicate features as she came close to tears. She nodded, squeezing his hand gently. An affirming touch, they were good. Her eyes clouded over with tears, however, as she rose from the bed and went to get her journal. She frantically flipped through the pages, over and over, as though trying to find something. A purpose. To make sense of it all. Her glimmering green eyes tore him apart each time he saw them, he hated seeing her crumple and not being able to do anything about it.

"There's nothing else," she whispered frantically. "Nothing- it just ends. Just ends right after she- that woman, right after she disappears. Everything's gone. The dreams, they've been more frequent, more frightening. John, there was a battlefield. And horrible metal monsters. It's all in the book, a sort of sky ship, trapped in orbit. Temporal flux around a black hole, the gravity sucking everything in, speeding up time. And Missy- the woman in the dress with frizzy hair, oh, she was brilliant-"

Beth stumbled back, her lips trembling as she gasped, as though come over by something else. The Master tried not to let the hope, the utter, euphoric joy show in his eyes. His Doctor. The Doctor was back. For just a sweet, merciful second, he didn't have to open the watch to hear her voice. And she was talking about him. Her. Missy was a complicated case. While the Master despised her trying to be nice, merciful, even, simply to please the Doctor, he couldn't help admitting that she had been the closest regeneration to attempt getting their friend back, which in the end, was really all the Master ever wanted.

"Is that- the Doctor, is that how she talks?" Beth trembled, her hands shaking. "I don't- I don't want to be her! I just want to be Beth. Just Beth Latimer, is that too much to ask? I'm happy here, I'm happy as a human."

"Beth," the Master soothed gently. "Are you really, truly happy here? I don't think you have been since Danny died. No matter what I can do for you, I always see that tear behind your eye. Held back. Just out of reach. This town is stifling you, Beth."

"The dreams keep coming closer," she trembled. "Night after night, it gets more intense- more horrifying. That woman, I left her behind on a burning ship. And- never said goodbye. I don't even know if she's- alive." 

"Beth," the Master took her hands, smoothing her palm with a thumb. "That woman. I can tell you with full confidence that she got out. She always does. And she doesn't blame you in the slightest. She was going to stand with you."

Beth looked at him like she was seeing a stranger. Her body trembled from head to foot as she started to cry silently, her tears landing on the old journal pages and ruining some of her most beautiful drawings. The Master made soft, calming sounds as his hand traced her back, fingertips moving along her spine. She was going to ask who he was any second now. He could feel it. With what he'd just told her, how could he know what was in her dreams?

"You're not in my dreams," Beth said quietly. "But you know everything about them. John. Who are you? Who are you really?"

"A friend," the Master replied, truthfully, placing a soft finger under her chin. "A friend who's come to help, exactly when you asked them to."

His lips were inches from Beth, his mystique and suave personality pulling her further and further in, but suddenly- footsteps. Mark was evidently coming home from whatever had kept him out late at night. Beth's eyes grew wide, without a word she stumbled off the bed and moved to hide the journal, her hand caressing his cheek gently, lingering on his beard. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know, she forgave him. He had made the right choice in coming to Broadchurch, this was all to protect the Doctor. All the heckling, the humiliation, the attacks, she was worth all of it. The Master gave her a nod, meeting her gaze a last time as he pecked a kiss to her cheek, then climbed out the window and was out in the darkness of the moors before Mark Latimer even opened the bedroom window.

...... 

Yaz had watched nervously as DI Hardy questioned Tom Miller, looking rather satisfied with his results. She could tell that something was different about him lately, something was off. He knew something that none of them did, something he had to keep secret. She worried that it had to do with the Doctor; when things were kept secret this long, it usually did. She considered springing a load of questions on him about whether it concerned the Doctor's safety, her excuse being that she had a right to know since she was also here to look after Beth.

Yaz poked her head into DI Hardy's office, noticing he was much more haggard than usual. His hand was ruffling through his hair, a sure sign of stress as he took down the video recorder and packed away the files on Tom Miller. Miller herself was away on assignment, and hadn't yet returned to the office this morning. Yaz savored these moments, it allowed her time to talk to Hardy out of character without anyone raising a suspicious eyebrow and getting them both into trouble with the higher ups.

"Anything interesting?" Yaz asked, a dry edge to her voice. "Questioning is your thing, isn't it? I knew it wouldn't be long before you brought the kids in. They do notice more than adults sometimes."

"Yes," DI Hardy mused. "You're right, they do. When I did this the first time, becoming human, I mean, this brilliant boy found the watch first. Kept it hidden from the Family. It scared him, but it was exactly what I needed. Bought me more time. I would have asked Tom more questions but Joe Miller cut our conversation short. Only to be expected, I suppose, he is the lad's father. We're so close, Yaz. Size ten."

"What?"

"Size ten footprints found near the hut," he said, a slight tremor in his voice, were his eyes dilated in fear or interest? "Joe Miller just confirmed his shoe size. Take a look at the files."

Yaz nervously picked up the remaining two orange file folders on his desk, glancing around her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. She flipped open the binder and took out the remaining two leaflets, telling everything anyone would want to know about three people. Joe Miller, Nathan Carter and John Smith. Shoe size was highlighted in a stark yellow color, everything else contrasted but the shoe size was the same for each of these men.

"The Master?" Yaz raised an eyebrow. "No. He's terrible, but I can't believe he's done this. He's here to look after the Doctor, he's keeping an eye on *your* future. Why've you still got him on file? For one thing, he wasn't even in town the day of the murder!"

"For another, as soon as he heard there *was* a murder, he swarmed on down and he's been wrecking havoc in his suave little ways ever since," DI Hardy sighed. "Trust me, Yaz, I have a long history with him. Too long. Any time he feels threatened, he tries to get the upper hand."

"And- he feels threatened after the attack?"

"Terrified," DI Hardy replied. "Dunno what shook him about it so much- but he's not the same as he was when he arrived. I'm keeping an eye on him in case anything changes. Anyway, he's got the same size footprints as all of these men, and we know they've all been at or near the cliffside hut since the murder occurred. Question is- why?"

"Thought you'd know the answer, sir," Yaz said cautiously. "If you don't mind me saying, it seems like you haven't slept. At all."

"I haven't," DI Hardy agreed, sipping his fifth cup of coffee of the day. "Which is why- I'm putting you on assignment with DS Miller."

"What!?" Yaz exploded.

At that moment, most unfortunately, DS Miller had entered the office from a break in questioning, looking quite tired herself. Everyone was on edge with how close they were to solving Danny's murder. They all knew that one more clue would solve everything. One more missing link. It seemed to Yaz that DI Hardy had done the worst possible pairing of his career and sent them to go and find it. DS Miller had always seemed to have it in for Yaz, scolding her for clocking in after setting up her work station, or getting in ten minutes later because she got a coffee.

"Sir, she- she *hates* me," Yaz dropped her voice to a whisper. "I don't know what she has against me but all the rumors about me that the police keep circling came from her." 

"Don't be ridiculous," DI Hardy rolled his eyes, getting up from his desk. "She doesn't *hate* you. She's just being- Miller. Miller! Do you hate DS Khan?"

"Only on my off days," DS Miller replied shortly, pausing after walking by his desk. "Why? And if you don't mind me saying, sir, you look like a feral cat just dragged you out of the dumpster."

"You and DS Khan are going to investigate the final clue," DI Hardy said with a twinkle in his eye. "Dunno what it is myself, haven't the faintest idea. But your sister said she had some evidence, Miller, didn't she? Speak to her next. Work together. If we fight among ourselves the killer will almost certainly get away. Made that mistake last time."

Yaz and DS Miller couldn't have looked less thrilled than when they turned to each other after DI Hardy's orders. If looks could kill, they would both be dead and buried, it was like a mountain lion stand off. Both women hadn't had any sleep in the past weeks, both were staying up late to protect their loved ones while Yaz was preparing for Beth Latimer's transition back into the Doctor. How Yaz missed the Doctor. So much. She had never missed her more than this moment, the Doctor always said she was brilliant, always gave her points, flashed her brilliant smiles from across the room. She could feel she was so close to getting her back.

But how ruined would the Doctor be if they found the murderer to be someone Beth Latimer loved? How would it affect the Doctor going forward- would she still be the same? It was with nervousness that Yaz remained quiet as DS Miller grabbed her car keys and they started on the journey to her sisters house, ready to finally find out who killed Daniel Latimer. 

Ready to finally bring back the Doctor.

.....

The Master was seething with quiet resentment. This was a familiar feeling as of late, resentment over the Doctor, over his position as the Doctor's executioner, as his main role in Beth Latimer's fantasy since coming to Broadchurch. He hated that everyone saw him as a stranger, an outlier. He just wanted a familiar face- at least the Doctor would always be there for him in the real world, at least he would have her familiar golden locks- even seeing Beth with brown hair felt strange and wrong, at least he had her familiar TARDIS and her blaring rainbow outfit. He hated it, absolutely. He wanted her more like him. But he'd had enough. All of this, it was too much. The Master had been questioning his very psyche. And that never ended well for anyone.

Last time it had happened, the entire world was flooded with Toclafane and poor Lucy Saxon ended up with a bruised eye at least once a week while he tortured Martha's family. Again, his mind had snapped. Again, he lay awake, looking out at the crashing waves. They didn't calm him this time. This time, they fuelled a small fire inside his hearts that had been burning since he arrived to Broadchurch. The racism, the betrayal, the killings. One word stood out to him among the beating of his innermost thoughts, straining against his mind.

Revenge. Revenge, revenge, revenge.

And, well. He couldn't very well get his frustrations out by ordering the Doctor to kneel in an 18th century gallery. The irony of the situation had not been lost on him, and still his cheeks burned with humiliation when he heard other townspeople whispering about him behind his back. His hearts thrummed against his chest, beating so loudly they smushed against his tissue compression nestled in his pocket. Just out of use in case he should ever need it. Now it seemed like the perfect time. He'd held back since he arrived, but now he felt like the rage inside him had finally, finally snapped. He abandoned his pacing and suited up, placing a pocket knife in his jacket for emergencies.

And so it was that the Master set off to find Joe Miller. To make him pay for what he had done. The Master knew, knew that Joe was guilty. Knew that he had murdered Daniel Latimer, knew that he had caused Beth and the Doctor so much unccecessary suffering that she hadn't felt in such a long time. He didn't know what would come of his actions. But if anything, he hoped they would bring this dance, this charade of murders, to a grinding halt. If he was lucky, perhaps Joe Miller would even reveal himself to the police. Truly confess his guilt. The Master would be in the room when Joe confessed. He would glare him down the other side of the camera, he would make him pay for everything he'd done.

Joe was the true monster. Joe had murdered a child. *So have you.* Joe had caused suffering beyond belief. *So have you.* Joe had come so, so close to harming the Doctor when the Master wasn't there. That's what angered the Master the most. His footsteps were long and striding as his expert fingers zoomed across his phone keyboard, easily hacking access to Joe's phone. A mysterious text? Perhaps. 'Meet me outside. I'm waiting. JS.' The Master doubted for a minute if Joe would even come. But he was relieved when he saw the guilty man leave the house. His body moved on its own accord, the pent up rage and aggression finally letting loose after so long.

The Master revealed his true strength, he had been holding back the day he was attacked, wanted to see how far Joe Miller could go. But now all cards were on the table. Free for all. The Master used his full bodily weight and slammed Joe Miller against the wall of the nearest alleyway, not noticing a disturbance from up above with the rage and anger filling his eyes. Joe looked terrified, gasping for ragged breath, but the Master simply pressed the handle of his tissue compression to the tip of Joe's lips.

"One false move," he growled, his voice deep. "I'm telling you, one *move* and I shoot. Your brain and I imagine several intestines will shatter over the wall, perhaps break your spine. S' what you did to me, isn't it? Only fair. Now. You're going to stay the fuck away from Beth Latimer, and the rest of the Latimer family. You know what you've done, and my hearts reel for what you are. The regret never leaves you. No matter how far you run, you'll always hear his screams."

"Only a killer would know that," Joe gasped for breath. "Killed children yourself, have you?"

The Master readied his pocket knife, pressing a warning button on his tissue compression, and Joe tensed up easily, once more returning to a coward position.

"Now," the Master said in a silky smooth voice. "Here's what you're going to do if you want to stay alive. You're going to run off to the police station. And you're going to hand yourself in. Willingly, without struggle. You're going to speak to DI Hardy, and you're going to drop this charade that's ruined *lives.* There are things going on here beyond what your little mind can comprehend. So do that for me, you may live- and we can get on with eliminating the real threats. Are you going to turn yourself in? Or do I have to turn your wife and son into a tiny human doll? I could do it, right now. March on in with this machine, this handy little machine. Oh, believe me, it would be sweet. Their lives don't matter to me, not in the slightest."

"Alright!" Joe shouted, the Master relaxing his grip, though still holding him against the wall. "Alrigh. I'll do it. I'll hand myself in. It's about time. Sick of hiding anyway."

"Good," the Master sneered, his knife just digging into Joe Miller's skin, enough to draw a tiny bead of blood. "Good. And while you're at it, do send me a text, would you? I so detest phone calls from other serial killers. Mustn't get the idea at all that they're equal to my standards."

The Master let Joe crumple to the ground, brushing specks of red blood off his pristine purple shirt. Thud, thud. Thud, thud. His hearts were thrumming normally again. It felt *good.* The rush of adrenaline, the look of utter fear. The compliance. The victory.

The Master was were he belonged, doing what he was made for. Across town, DI Hardy got a text. From an unknown number.

......


	8. Chapter 8: Who is John Smith?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Identities merge and murderers are revealed. All the secrets of the town of Broadchurch are about to be told, leaving a bloody battlefield behind.

Chapter 8: Who Is John Smith? 

Beth Latimer had been teetering over the edge the past few days. It seemed everything was about to go wrong, her life had already spiraled out of control and things couldn't get much worse. The most comforting thing that had occurred was the surprising visit from John Smith in the middle of last night. He'd left his hotel room against police orders to come and see her. She was forced to admit that he felt something for her at the very least, but whether or not it was love had some dubious intentions. For one thing, she was beginning to form doubts as to whether she could actually be pregnant. Something just felt...wrong with the whole situation. She wasn't experiencing any normal pregnancy symptoms, and had even completed a late night google search to see everything she should have felt by now.

None of the search results matched what her stomach was doing. Beth couldn't even feel small kicks, which were usually at a stage of at least a month in. And she knew pregnancy just as well as any other mum, having raised Danny Latimer. Even there, the memories were fuzzy. Hazy. As if from a diary or a play, shoved into her mind. That was the thing that terrified Beth the most. Whenever she tried to remember her past, even months ago, it came up blank sometimes. As if there was nothing there at all. This led to her shaking hands and panic attacks at two in the morning, with her concerned mother saying to take an asprin and a sleep medication. Loss of sleep during pregnancy was a real thing, she knew that. But Beth also knew these reasons for it were abnormal. And then there was Mark to deal with, with his going off to the pub every other night or god knows where. She only saw him during the day time and they made a few muttered excuses to each other about what they'd both been doing. 

Chloe had gone down to the beach with Beth's mum today, and had offered her to come. She was desperate to leave the house and try to have her family act normally for a change. But Beth still felt like something major was about to happen and decided it was best to stay closer to home. A buzzing feeling surrounded her stomach as she tried to go about her morning as normally as she could. Before she knew it, there was a knock at the door. When she gathered the courage to yank it open, DI Hardy stood in front of her. 

"Oh thank god, it's you," Beth sighed. "Have you found them? Have you found who killed Danny?"

"No," DI Hardy replied after a pause, causing Beth to look dejected once more. "But we're close, Beth. We're so close, we're nearly there. I can feel it. One more interview, they'll crack soon. They've got to, half this town's been brought in for questioning. I promised I'd find Danny's killer, and I stand by that promise. But I came to check on you. How are you? How've you been feeling? I know this can't be easy."

"Everyone says that," Beth snapped, her hands shaking as she let DI Hardy in, pacing back and forth. "I feel...I feel so disconnected. Out of place. Like it's...it's my life, I know it is. But everything feels...wrong." 

"What about the baby?" said DI Hardy, sitting down at the kitchen table. 

"That's what feels wrong," Beth explained, crumpling her hands in her hair. "There should be more development by now. I know babies, I should at least feel a kick or a heart beat or...anything. But I haven't. I haven't told Mark about that, but...could this could be a false reading?" 

"Anything's possible," DI Hardy replied gravely. "Listen, I heard from John Smith, he said you were having nightmares. I figured- can't hurt to have someone to talk to about them, can it?"

"He told you about me," Beth sighed, her hands shaking more than ever.

Beth went for the kitchen at once, opening the wooden cupboards overhead. She reached for the expensive wine wrapped in a twine gift bottle, grabbing two glasses. As DI Hardy felt it would be rude to decline, he let her pour them two glasses and sit them outside on the porch. The wind blew through Beth's brown hair, revealing soft, golden highlights in between. A soft hint of the Doctor, DI Hardy knew. It was risky even doing this, a supposed paradox. But the universe thought they were both human. A detective and a grieving mum. 

"Been having a lot of this stuff lately, have you?" DI Hardy noted that half the bottle was empty as he downed his glass.

"Can't help it," said Beth, working her shaking hands around the bottle already for a second pour. "Numbs the pain. All that helps these days. I have an extra few cases under my bed, but John took them away the last time he were here." 

"Beth," said DI Hardy firmly, gently tugging the wine from her grasp. "Beth, talk to me. I'm here to listen." 

"No, give that BACK!" Beth suddenly shouted, her sobs renewing as she lunged across the table for the bottle. "Let me have it, it's all that helps, it's all I have!" 

Her strands of hair fell over her shoulders as she collapsed onto the table. DI Hardy saw it coming before it happened, and quickly took the bottle, pouring it over the fence. His gentle arms wrapped around her, gently soothing her back as she sobbed loudly, horribly. Like a wounded animal crouching over her last purpose of life. 

"It's not fair!" Beth screamed. "It's not fair, why him?? Why was it him??"

"Shh, I know," DI Hardy simply rocked her back and forth, hoping to calm her. "I know. I will solve this, Beth. I will get justice for you, I promise. You have my word." 

"And then what?" Beth's voice was barely a whisper. "Once it's all done, what happens next? I can'- I can' live like this forever." 

"No," said DI Hardy softly. "Of course you can't. Not without your son. Beth...do you ever get the feeling that maybe your life isn't just this? Isn't just the lonely mum of Broadchurch? Isn't just sitting alone in this house all day grieving for a son you never knew? Do you feel like you're missing something?" 

Beth finally managed to calm down her sobs enough as his words washed over her. Her shoulders were haunched over the table, her mascara running down her face. She looked so lost, so hopeless, so utterly pitiful. DI Hardy could hardly believe that this would one day be his future, that the rest of the world would one day crush him enough to be this depressed, alone woman in the middle of a man hunt for a child killer. How did she even get here? It was obvious that she was hoping this could be a nice holiday retreat while looking after a few kids and her fam keeping her safe. She would never have stepped into this situation if she knew this would be the outcome. Completely crushed from the soul within.

"Yeah," Beth replied. "I've jus'...this human life. I can' do it anymore. I can'...it's like I'm not made for it. There's always somethin' just out of reach an' I have no idea what it is. I have dreams, about space and travel and wonderful people. But...theyre jus' out of reach an' it makes me cry every mornin' when I wake up. Like I've lost something so special...and I have no idea what it is." 

"Beth," DI Hardy gently reached over and clasped her hands in his. "I promise you. Within the next few days, the killer will be captured. We will bring Danny to justice, and you can finally release this heavy burden. But until then, I need you to be strong for me. If not for me, then for John Smith. He's having a rough time of it too. While the two of you may be frowned upon, if it makes you happy, I don't have a problem with it. You need at least one nice thing." 

"Promise me?" Beth tilted her head, her hair getting in her mouth and eyes from the salty, sea sprayed wind. 

"I swear on every case I've failed," said DI Hardy, seriously. "Your boy will get the justice he deserves."  
....  
Even Yaz could tell things were coming to a close. With her basic level of copper training, she knew a busted criminal when she saw one, and she never quite trusted Joe Miller or Nigel Carter. They were both too nervous and quiet for their own good. As much as she detested being paired up with Miller, she put up with it for the hope that Beth would get justice. And perhaps the simple fact of justice would be enough for her to change back into the Doctor, who Yaz had never missed more than now. If the Doctor was here, things would be so much easier, she would know exactly what to say, she always did. A kind smile, a few perfect words. Yaz watched from the distance as Beth fell apart, looking from the outside. She so desperately wanted to comfort her, to throw her arms around her in a soft hug that the Doctor would only let Yaz give, because the Doctor only trusted her soft, gentle touches on their adventures.

So as she stood outside Lucy's house and watched her bargain with her sister DS Miller, she sucked in her breath and danced nervously on the balls of her heels, ready for any valuable information this woman could give them that might help the Doctor. She could tell Miller had never managed to balance a good relationship with her sister, the two were almost inherently cross to see each other, and looked nothing much alike. Miller handed over three crisp one hundred pound bills, much to Lucy's satisfaction.

"I swear to god, you're dead if anyone finds out about this," DS Miler hissed between her teeth. 

"Your information had better be worth meddling with a police investigation," said Yaz, who was always very much on the side of the law. 

"Trust me, I have the link you're looking for," Lucy replied, inviting them in. "The night of Danny's death, must have been about an hour after he rode that skateboard of his into town, I saw someone. Right below my window. A tall man." 

"OK," said DS Miller after a long pause. "Well, that could indicate a number of situations, dear sister, perhaps he was out for a late night stroll." 

"No," Lucy replied firmly. "He was dumping something in a bin, and when I went down to look, it was a bag of old clothes. I had to look, it stank up the whole street. Must have been disinfectant or cleaning spray. But who does that? Who throws a bunch of disinfected clothes in a skip at 2 am? There's gotta be something there, sis." 

"Unless they were trying to bin the evidence," Yaz caught on, leaning forward. "Maybe the clothes already drenched it enough but he knew we'd still find finger prints. Must've been four weeks since those bins were changed last." 

"I knew it," Miller sneered, standing up to leave. "This is pointless, we're wasting our time." 

"I know who I saw," Lucy said desperately. "We all know him. And you're not going to like this one bit, Elle. He was tall, a bald head, his coat hood fell as he walked away."

"Hang on," said Yaz, with a concerned look at DS Miller. "A tall man with a bald head? And you only saw the back of him? Well, there's two people in Broadchurch who fit that description. Nigel Carter...and Joe Miller." 

DS Miller caught her worried glance, her sister backing away towards the mantel as though not wanting to get the blunt of her anger. Her face twisted into an unreadable expression of shock and fear, her eyes saying everything that the inexplicable noise that escaped her lips didn't. She didn't want to believe it, so desperately didn't want to believe that Joe was capable of such a horrible, inhuman thing and had been hiding alongside her, sleeping beside her this entire time. In this moment, Yaz worried about Beth more than ever. Yaz squeezed DS Miller's arm in an attempt to comfort her before ordering her to stay at her sisters while she ran to find DI Hardy at the station. 

"Detective Inspector," she panted, just catching him as he clocked out for the night shift, looking deathly serious. "I know who did it. It's-" 

"Joe Miller," DI Hardy replied in a whisper, turning around.

"Yes," Yaz shook her head, confused. "How did you know?"

"The Master," he explained. "He was attacked, remember? On the cliffside. Joe bowled him over and terrified him out of his wits to keep quiet about him. He only told me when I dropped all police pretense. First things first, do not breath a word of this to Miller, understood? She finds out on her own terms, I'll be there to comfort her. I need you to look after Beth. She's falling apart in that house of hers, filled to the brim with alcohol." 

"Jesus Christ," Yaz sighed, finally catching on. "No wonder she's looked off lately. She's been drinking to cope with the false reality. I've seen her from afar, the bloodshot eyes, the tiredness. How much was in there?"

"Cases of it, apparently," DI Hardy said. "The Master emptied them out on one of his visits, she told me he scoured the whole bedroom and found at least seven. At least for once I can say he had good intentions. Now, listen to me, this is important. I'm talking as the Doctor, Yaz. I know you're in my future, and it's my future that I'm the most concerned about. Seeing her descend into this spiral of alcoholic depression while remaining in character as a detective was one of the most stressful things I've ever done, and I need you to look after her. It's time. It's time for Beth to become the Doctor again." 

Yaz's utter joy must have shown in the quick, brilliant smile that spread across her face, but was quickly shot down by DI Hardy's serious glare. Of course she knew the Doctor wouldn't be the same as when she changed. She knew this would be challenging. This wouldn't be the Doctor she knew that she was getting back. This would be a Doctor who's hearts had been utterly broken and destroyed by a human life that she so desperately wanted and subsequently fell apart. This would be a Doctor longing for a child that would never come, her mental state ruined by drink. Even Yaz wasn't sure if she was ready for that. 

"The watch," Yaz nodded. "You're saying it's time for her to open the watch? But sir, the Master has it." 

"I know," the Doctor replied with a sigh. "And that's the challenge. Get the watch back from the Master before she falls apart completely. This human life will destroy her if we leave her here. I've prepared you for this the best I can. You must be harsh, you cannot let any of her pleadings and newly found joys of humanity distract you. Understand? You've got to get her back. I'm trusting you with this, you've shown you're capable in the police station. Do not let me down." 

Yaz shook her head, silent. She took off running across town, her hand on her gun in the back pocket of her jeans. She didn't know exactly where to go first, and the night was drawing quick upon the quiet sea side town. Everyone was inside, the past few stragglers heading back for the night. DI Hardy had already disappeared down the street. She supposed it wouldn't be a bad idea to check in on Beth Latimer and see how she was truly doing with the alcohol addiction story that she had just been exposed to, but Yaz worried that if she didn't get to the Master in time he would flee town with the watch. It was with that thought she ran off towards the town center, with the intent of the Trader's Hotel. 

But the town square was...oddly quiet. There was no chatter from patrons in the nearby bar. No golden flickering light from the houses that normally lined the street. And then Yaz realized why the square was so quiet. The clock tower had stopped ticking. It ticked every minute, and chimed on the hour. The tower was always omniprecent, looming over the center of town from an old, rustic church. It spanned as high as 50, perhaps 60 feet, the bell tower alcove at the top even further up. Yaz's attention was called up to the very top, and what she saw terrified her. Ryan Sinclair was held at the base of the golden bell by Mother of Mine, the family of blood standing in front of the church and staring her down. 

"Yaz, get out of here!" Ryan yelled from above. "Just get out, go! They've got guns, go! Get the Doctor and get out." 

"Ryan, I'm not leavin' without you!" Yaz cried, her feet already stumbling back from the advancing little girl.

"They took me to get at the Doctor," shouted Ryan. "They say that they want the Doctor or they'll push me off the roof." 

"One hour," Mother of Mine said with a wicked smile. "One hour or Ryan here falls to his death. Pretty long way down, isn't it? A cold blustery night, any little accident could happen." 

The horrible woman moved her foot slightly, knocking Ryan almost off the edge of the alcove so that he had to grab onto one of the brick landings. The wind had indeed picked up, making their voices hard to hear. Fog spread across the courtyard, obscuring the rest of the family as they set towards Yaz with deadly, alien guns. The young policewoman panicked, she had to find the Doctor. Watch or no watch, the Doctor was the only one who could get them out of this situation. 

"Yaz, just go!" Ryan shouted. 

"I'm sorry..." 

Yaz's braids whipped around her shoulders as she took off into the night, narrowly dodging a green laser beam from daughter of mine's gun, the little girl just barely missing her as she ran after the young adult's long sprints with impossible speed. Gods, Yaz hoped DI Hardy was right. She'd never doubted her ability more, and Ryan's life depended on it.  
....

Dawn was just starting to break over the sleepy town of Broadchurch. As residents close to the town center woke, they let out startled gasps when they looked up to the clock tower and saw a tiny figure held at gunpoint on the top most section. The police were naturally alerted to the oncoming crisis, but the officers that were supposed to be on duty were out and about taking care of the last suspects for Daniel Latimer's murder. DI Hardy had been called to the Miller's house by a mysterious phone number that had never shown up on his mobile before, lead through the tracing of the call to the back of DS Miller's garden and confronted by a broken down Joe Miller. There was only one possible solution for this bold move and surrender, and DI Hardy had to come to the logical conclusion. Joe Miller had killed Daniel Latimer. The affair of arrest was done without horns and trumpets or alerting the media and soon Joe was kept in a supervised, locked cell at the station.

DS Miller had no idea of what was happening, as DI Hardy had sent her off to the cliffside hut on a wild goose chase to take samples of the footprints. Yaz had run straight to Beth Latimer's house in the early hours of the morning, pacing nervously back and forth outside her rose garden. She shivered in the chilled morning air, blowing into her gloves and rubbing her hands occasionally as her stomach twisted in a knot. What followed when Beth woke up wouldn't be pleasant, for her or the Doctor. She just hoped with all her heart that the Doctor would forgive her for what she was about to do. And she had no idea just *how* she would do it without the watch. The watch was the key to everything, and the Master had gotten his greedy, sneaky little hands on it at the festival, and not let go since. This was his end game, she was sure. His real reason for coming here. This was his perfect opportunity to get the Doctor under his complete control, for whatever purpose. Yaz had to get there first.

Beth was a mess, her hair in a half bun and carrying an empty liquor bottle as she opened the door at Yaz's precise half past seven knock. She couldn't wait any longer, not even for Beth to get changed into her day clothes.

"Can I help you?" asked Beth, her voice dripping in annoyance.

"Hi," Yaz smiled nervously, her hands trying very hard not to shake. "You don't know me that well, that is to say, we haven't been aquainted yet. But I'm one of the officers on your son's case. And...they told me to come. To tell you a couple updates and...it's not good news, I'm afraid."

"Oh god," Beth clutched the door handle, leaning over in shock. "Did you find them? Did you find the killer, is it someone we know? DI Hardy said he'd find them, I didn't expect it so soon..."

"Hardy was here?" Yaz raised an eyebrow, when on Earth did he have time to do that? "Can I come in, please? It's bitterly cold out here and I've been freezing to death since six."

"What the blazes 'ave you been doing outside, then?" Beth practically ushered her in, her eyes drifting over Yaz's red cheeks and nervous bouncing heels. "C'mon, you should've rang. Not usually this indisposed, but I've got my wits about me not to let a fellow human freeze. What can I make you? Tea, hot chocolate?"

"Tea would be lovely," Yaz gave a small smile as Beth sat her down at the kitchen table. "Thanks."

Was the Doctor starting to remember already? It was good form in general for the British to offer tea and drinks when visitors came round, but Yaz was practically a stranger to Beth. But her concerned glances over at Yaz as she bustled around the kitchen, the way her eyes drifted over her as if checking for any signs of damage from staying outside, it seemed so...like her. Like the Doctor. But then, Yaz was forced to realize that this could be Beth the human's way of buttering her up, just to make sure that what she heard wasn't bad news. Mothers were strange like that, Yaz reasoned. And...was that a half emptied bottle of wine on the counter? Her hand twitched, but she tried very hard not to show how worried she was about the Doctor succuming to drink.

"So," Yaz fiddled with the handle of her mug nervously, watching as the steam rose into the air. "Beth. I want you to know, I want you to hear it from me first. We've found the killer. We know who it is, and they're behind bars. They can't hurt anyone else. They won't be able to ever again."

"Yeah, but they still got Danny, though, didn't they?" Beth's hand was shaking as she sat across from Yaz. "Sorry. I just...do you mind if I wake the others? It's just- Chloe hasn't left for school yet, Mark's still here for a change an-"

"It was Joe," Yaz blurted, causing Beth to whip around in shock. "It was Joe Miller."

Yaz swallowed a lump in her throat that she didn't know was there, but Beth seemed frozen in shock. Her hand was half lifted in the air as though she were about to go up the staircase, her eyes brimming with tears. She shook her head, her brown hair trembling so that the golden roots of the Doctor's hair shone through.

"Don't say that," Beth's voice broke. "How can you...how can it be Joe? Our friend, our... Jesus Christ, he was in our house, we had dinner..."

"I'm sorry," Yaz placed a soft hand over Beth's, looking her in the eyes gently like a scared deer. "I need you to listen to me, Beth. You can wake your family after you hear this, DI Hardy will be back soon to fill you in on official charges. But I want you to hear this as a friend. I think you've already known for a long time. There's a blue box buried in a shed, hidden just a couple miles from Broadchurch."

"What?" Beth's lip twitched, her eyes disbelieving. "Why are you saying this!? Why the *fuck* are you talkin' about a box when I've jus' found out my son's killer-"

"Because he's *not* your son," Yaz said, the words stinging in her throat. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but you know it too, Beth. Just like you know you *can't* be pregnant right now, else all that wine surely would have done you in. There's another life hidden from you, Beth. A better life. One with wonder and adventures and...friends. At least I hope we'll still all be friends after this because god, this has really screwed us over. That box, it's your spaceship Beth. Do you remember its name?"

Yaz had never seen the Doctor look so pained before. Her hand was shaking as she moved it to her stomach, as though desperate to feel some sort of sign of life that would never come. Her heartbroken gaze landed around the kitchen on all the broken wine bottles, realizing just how far she had gone into her human life and just how much of a mess she had made of herself. The Doctor, tall, proud, heroic, broken down into a drunk, depressed, crying mum who never took care of herself and had secret meetings with the town outlaw. Yaz reached out to touch her shoulder gently, but Beth reeled back as though she'd just been stabbed, looking offended, confused, heartbroken.

"Don't you dare touch me," Beth growled, standing up. "Don't you dare- you want to know what I did to Becca Fisher? Almost killed her with shattered glass, I did. Would've destroyed the whole bar if John hadn't stopped me. You keep away from me, you keep away from this house, from my family. As for Joe, I don't believe it. You came here under a false case as a cop, that's a criminal offense. You are skating on *very* thin ice, young lady."

"Beth, I'm so sorry, but you need to know about this, I can't just leave you here in the dark!" Yaz raised her voice, starting to move towards the door. "You can't just be alone. Not now. You can't shut yourself up again with wine to cope and I won't let you. I'm getting you out of this, whether you like it or not. You're not Beth Latimer. You're called the Doctor. I know you've got it locked up in that brilliant mind of yours somewhere and we need the Doctor now. My friend is in danger!"

"Why can't I just be Beth!?" she screamed, turning around with tears in her eyes. "Why can' I jus' be human, isn't it good enough? I failed Danny, I let 'im down. I have a chance, I can't give this up! I jus...I just want to be Beth Latimer. With her human life!! Get out. Get out, I don't want to see you here again!"

Yaz let out a sharp exclamation, almost considering using her strength that she had built up in police training to yank the Doctor away from her, but Beth had grabbed onto her clothes with an unstable hand. An unstable, very strong hand that was lugging her to the door no matter how much she struggled. The steaming cups of tea lay forgotten on the table as Yaz was brutally shoved out the door with Beth's scream, left on the doorstep. The sliding door slammed behind her, all the window shades in the house were being yanked down. Yaz's breathing had never been so labored as she processed what had just happened, the Doctor had attacked her. But it wasn't the Doctor, but Beth still had her strength in spades. Her body was trembling like a leaf as she looked up at Beth's window just in time to see the shade drop down. Her hands fumbled for her phone, her legs kicking into gear, running back across town.

The number she called faded out into a dial tone once, twice. Yaz felt her heart drop in her chest, he couldn't have left. Not now, not when it was most vital for him to be here. But it would be just like the Master to do that. Leave as soon as the Doctor needed him most. She called a final time, her voice shaky.

"You need the watch, I presume?" his voice sounded so smug that Yaz wanted to slap him.

"This isn't a time for gloating," Yaz growled. "She attacked me. Beth, she threw me out the doors. She's intoxicated, she needs you now. She needs the watch. Master, if you ever cared about her at all, you'd help her. Please."

The Master's pause of consideration had set Yaz on edge in a way she'd never felt before, but she knew she'd gotten to the bottom of what made him crack. She heard his feet shuffling across the room, her face breaking into a relieved smile.

"See you in a bit."

The line went dead, but Yaz breathed a sigh, her body starting to function again. Despite the Doctor's breakdown, despite her need for human life, despite everything, there was still hope. Always hope. Her cellphone rang the minute she reached the town center, ready to break into the church that held the clock tower if she had to. 

"Hardy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's happened?"

"I'm at the Latimer's house, you've got to stay away," DI Hardy replied in a stern voice. "She's very unstable, but she's about to change back and she knows it. She needs the watch. I need you to watch over Joe Miller."

"I...I can't do that sir," Yaz trembled, her hand shaking. "I'm not qualified, he's in captivity."

"You're qualified enough for this," DI Hardy ordered. "We're all counting on you, he cannot be allowed to escape. Stand guard outside his cage, don't speak to him, don't listen to him. Make sure he doesn't leave. We cannot afford any more accidents. Not now."

"Any more?" Yaz asked. "Sir, what does that mean?"

"Miller attacked him," Hardy replied after a long sigh. "After she found out. She lost control but she was completely justified in her actions, he killed her best friend's son and hid behind her back for weeks. You don't tell anyone about the attack, got it? It's not in our favor. Don't leave his cage."

"Understood, sir."

Yaz hung up her mobile, glancing to the top of the clock tower where she could see a tiny outline of Ryan still being held at gunpoint by the little girl. Her body was trembling again, the world swirling around her. She wasn't in control anymore, even when she thought she'd grasped some type of victory at calling the Master to Beth's house. She would just have to trust that someone like Graham or the police would rescue Ryan before the family did something horrid at the Doctor's expense. The Doctor was under enough strain already. It was up to Yaz to make sure that Joe Miller didn't cause her any more grief. She set her mouth in a firm line, let out a deep breath and shook herself to stand tall as she headed back to the police station, taking a silent vigil outside the tiny cage that held Joe Miller.

......

The Master knew this would happen soon. He knew that the Doctor would eventually break through the shell of Beth Latimer, and that he would have to be there for her. He just didn't expect it to be exactly when she found out who killed Daniel Latimer. He could breathe a huge sigh of relief now, in a way, as he no longer had to keep the secret that he knew who had done it ever since Joe's attack at the boat house. But the Master had no idea how to get the Doctor back from human form. Yaz assumed that calling him to the Latimer's house would fix everything and he would be able to open the watch, but it was more complicated than that. The Doctor knew this, it was why she had called the Master back in the first place to stand watch over her, he was sure of it. She had used a human to do it last time, but a fellow time lord would ease the pain of a lost love, at least a little bit. And it wasn't entirely lost, the Master still loved her even as the Doctor, it just took him longer and more strength to admit.

He didn't have much time. As he paced his room, he knew it was Ryan who the family had chosen to threaten, and couldn't help but admire their nerve. If only there was some way he could get to the clock tower in time, save the pathetic human and get the watch to Beth Latimer in one go. But of course- Graham! The bar tender, of course. Always trust a good bar tender. He threw on his purple overcoat, the silver buttons glowing in the afternoon light. He gave a nod after tracing his tongue along his teeth, setting down to the bar. Graham stood polishing the brass wood and golden handles like always, looking more worried than ever.

"Graham," said the Master. "You're going to think I'm mad."

"We've established that already, haven't we, son?" Graham smiled lightly as he turned, leaning over. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"The Doctor's about to change back," the Master explained. "Things have already been set into motion, things I had no control over that I desperately needed to have. As a result, the family have struck earlier than expected and they've taken Ryan to the top of the bell tower."

"Jesus- the one in the church?" Graham dropped the towel he was holding in shock. "That's the highest tower in town, they can't be planning anything good. God- he's my grandson, I've got to help him. Have they taken him there as some sort of bargain? For the Doctor?"

"Precisely my thoughts," the Master said. "And, seeing as you're the most concerned and connected party to Ryan, I'm giving you the task of getting him down. No idea how you're going to do it, but, well- I wish you luck."

"Well, thanks sunshine, I'm going to need it," Graham chuckled in disbelief. "What about you, then? You said things was going ahead with the Doc, what does that mean? Is she safe?"

"I can only hope," the Master grimaced. "If she's as unstable as I think she is, she's a danger to herself and to others until she gets the watch."

"Don't hang around here blabbing at me about it then, go bloody help her," Graham said, patting the Master's shoulder as he emerged from the bar frantically. "Got a plan to get her back?"

"Working on one," the Master admitted. "Last minute, imperfect, all I've got plan."

"Heard that one before."

Graham gave the Master a look that almost conveyed sympathy, but then seemed to remember that he was a killer and quickly reached for his jacket, fumbling for the keys to lock the bar up for the day. The two were men on a mission, both desperate to save people they loved. Graham was one of the Doctor's little pets that the Master connected with the most, and had been forced to connect to. They had both lost people they cared about, and couldn't afford to loose anything else, including their own sanity. It was the look of understanding that the two gave each other as they headed out the door and ignored Becca Fisher's badgering that gave the Master the strength he needed before setting off to Beth Latimer's house for the last time.

..... 

The Master had never run faster than he ran across town to Beth's house. He panted for breath as he dashed up the neatly trimmed passage to the door that Yaz had been rudely and harshly pushed out hours ago and nervously ran his tongue across his teeth before knocking on the door. He paced back and forth before it was opened by DI Hardy, who was looking quite grim. When the Master stepped inside, he immediately saw why and realized that he was too late. His hand was clenched over the watch nervously in his left pocket, which he gripped even more firmly when he saw the Family cornering Beth and DI Hardy.

"John," Beth choked in relief, trying to get up from the couch only to be harshly shoved back by Mother of Mine. "Oh, thank god, John...I have no idea what's going on here but they say they want the Doctor. I- I have n-no idea who that is!"

"Well, well," Mother of Mine gave a wicked grin. "Look who we have at last. The bad penny. Come to save your lover, have you?"

"She's not...look, I don't know what you all want with her, but she's had enough trauma already and she doesn't need you lot messing up her mind any more," the Master growled, raising an eyebrow at DI Hardy. "You really couldn't get them to leave?"

"I tried," DI Hardy said. "But they threatened her family at gunpoint, said they'd kill the daughter and Ryan unless she changed back. I told them we didn't have the watch but they didn't believe me."

"Time for reconciliation, then, I think," the Master sighed, turning on his heels to face down Mother of Mine. "I don't particularly favor you after what you did to me in the town square. But...if you let me alone with Beth for a few minutes, I could help you more than you might realize. You see- you may know me as the Master. I believe we have a few interests in common."

Son of Mine took this opportunity to stand over the Master, intimidating him with a small glare of his beady eyes, as though checking that his intentions were good. DI Hardy's chest was heaving in anticipation when the Master briefly glanced over, his glare never more severe. Would the Master really give his future self over to the Family of Blood even when he was considering this Doctor might have actually had a good idea giving him the fob watch? The Master chuckled softly, taking the watch from his pocket.

"Is this a surrender?" Son of Mine sneered. "Why didn't you do so sooner?"

"Not a surrender," the Master shook his head. "An offer. As the most powerful time lord in the room and arguably the one who holds the most power in this current moment, I can offer you a choice. What I can get you right now, is a time lord going spare, right here. I can offer you every bit of her conscience, every secret she's ever held, every world she's destroyed, every battle she's fought. You can have that all, right now. If you're willing to let me have a few minutes alone with Beth. And when I say alone, I mean no DI Hardy, none of your little sons and daughters on lookout, none of you in the house excepting me and her."

Beth was now looking rather terrified. DI Hardy tried to step forward as though to block the Master from doing anything stupid, or perhaps to take the watch from him, but the Master quickly placed it in in his breast pocket, patting the bulge it created to show that the golden object was safe and sound. He raised his eyebrows at DI Hardy, saying that he couldn't do anything about what the Family decided.

"You have ten minutes," Mother of Mine growled.

The Family gathered up Beth's daughter, husband and mother, ushering them out of the house with their own worried looks and exclamations. Beth assured them she would be fine, but hesitated herself when DI Hardy was shoved forward by Son of Mine. He gave her such a deadly look that she backed down and let Hardy be escorted out the door, even if it looked like it was the last thing he wanted to do. Beth was sitting on the couch still, but her expression was so scared, so alone, so terrified, that the Master took pity on her and dropped his facade as soon as the door closed. He rushed to the couch and gathered her in his arms, gently soothing her by running a soft hand down her back. She was already starting to cry, a few choked sobs escaping her lips.

"Shh, it's alright," he whispered. "It's alright, you've done so well. You're so brave, Beth."

"Why- what was all that?" Beth trembled. "Why did you say those things? You've never sounded like that before, you've always been so kind and gentle. I- John, I need you..."

"I'm here, darling, I'm right here," the Master rocked her back and forth gently, it was like trying to comfort a scared child. "Beth. Do you remember what I was saying about the Journal of Impossible Things? Well...I lied, I'm afraid. I've seen those monsters and those people before. They aren't just in your dreams, and I think you know it too. I think your dreams and those drawings are someone else inside you, crying out for help."

"Help," Beth repeated, a twinge of the Doctor's Northern accent breaking through. "I- why did you lie? Y' could've helped me then, you could've...you could've told me."

"I couldn't," the Master said truthfully. "I made a promise, and I'm seeing it through now. I said those things to get them out of here, I'd never just hand the Doctor over to them willingly, despite what DI Hardy might believe."

"If you care about me," Beth trembled. "If y' really care about me, John, why are all these people talking about a watch? Why do they want the Doctor? Why do they keep actin' like I can do something about it? If you care about me, why does it feel like...my life isn't my own? Like it never has been?"

The Master took a deep breath. This was the part he had been afraid of. The realization of Beth that her life wasn't her own anymore, and it never truly had been, at least while she had pretended to be a human. He was shaking as he took her hands, trying to calm them by soothing his thumb over her palm. He took a deep breath, sucking the air through his cheeks. Beth looked so heartbroken already as he took out the watch from its safe place in his pocket that he had never hated more that she had set him the job of Beth's executioner. He froze as Beth placed his hand over his that clutched the watch like it was a lifeline. In a way, it was. It held the Doctor's life essence, etched with symbols from home. His home. *Their* home.

The Master heard Beth gasp before it happened, before his head was flooded with images. Ghostly images from a future that could never be his. A concerned mother and John Smith leaving Chloe at her first day back at school, a delighted Beth actually becoming pregnant with a second child, a sad and distraught Beth divorcing from Mark for never prioritizing her and always running out on the family, a future Beth and John Smith building a new life and settling down together. Moving away from Broadchurch, growing old together. The pair were shaking as they yanked their hands away from the pocket watch, both breathing heavily, knowing what the other had seen without a word.

"That life..." Beth said shakily. "It's not me."

"No," the Master agreed, a choked sob. "Nor mine. Beth, I'm sorry. I've lied to you. I'm not John Smith, not really. Im called the Master. And...I don't really know what I am to you. But I hope one day you'll look back on this an...and see who was really there for you when you needed them most."

"I know," said Beth after a long pause. "I've thought so for a while. I thought- John Smith, everyone's called John Smith. An' what you did for me...it's like you were my guardian angel. You were there every time I needed you.

The Master finally let his body break from everything he'd endured. From the racist taunts, the impending doom of execution, the keeping of her secret, soothing her through the night when there was no one to calm him. The attack from Joe, the threat to keep quiet, everything had broken him more than he admitted. He sobbed, both of them crying silently as they held each other. Beth's hand closed over the watch, the Master gently letting it fall into her hand.

"I think you know what to do with this," the Master said. "Your family and friends are in danger the longer you pretend to be human. I'm sorry, I wish it was a good life, but it's not. You've admitted it too. You felt trapped, alone. With me as your only solace, the only one who understood. You're so much more than this, Beth. You're the Doctor. That woman in your dreams, its you. All those faces and creatures, you've met all of them. Sent the evil ones away and gave the good ones hope. It's what you do. While I may think it's tedious and unecesary at times, I- have to admit. The universe would stop without you."

Beth took a shaky breath as her hand traced the fob watch design patterns. He could tell she was already being drawn to the life force inside, it was calling to her, calling her closer just like it did for him. She looked into his chocolate brown eyes with her broken hazel, the shades and colors reflecting the tears brimming inside as she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Whatever you decide," the Master breathed. "I'll be here. I won't leave your side. Even if you decide you don't want me or you don't really need me. I won't leave you."

The Master knew it was the Doctor who looked back at him, even still in the guise of Beth Latimer. Her eyes conveyed all the hope and sadness that she couldn't put into words, that she so desperately wanted to live this human life with him but it was an adventure they could both never live. Not with who they were, and what the past had shaped them into. He took a deep breath and went back outside, waiting with DI Hardy by the door. He nodded, silent, but Hardy understood. With a single glance, he departed, as two time lords in the same place would cause an unwanted paradox. His job was done, and he had played his part well. He gave the Master a small salute as he headed off back over the hillside.

The Master looked up to the church, nervous about what might be happening in there right now. Was Graham getting overpowered? And since when did he care about the Doctor's pets? He turned round at seeing Beth emerge through the door, a stoic expression upon her face as the wind whipped her brown hair around. But...she was still holding the watch. And it was closed.

"John..." Beth said with a sad smile. "I really did love you."

With that, she took a deep breath and set off to face the Family of Blood one last time. The Master was utterly confused and baffled, wishing he hadn't left her alone to open the watch. Did she open it at all? Was she going to surrender herself as a human to them once and for all? His hands were shaking as he followed her, his ounce of control and guise of John Smith completely faded away into nothing more than a story.

....


	9. Chapter Nine: The Doctor Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final stand down of the Doctor against the Family of Blood. But is she walking into this battle as the human Beth Latimer? And just what time line is the Master really from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! First off thank you so much for your continued support this summer, it's been a crazy and unpredicted time. I hope this story has been a source of comfort for you, as it was for me. This is the last chapter before I go off to uni in London, but I've had such a good time writing it. Your responses have made my day, and I hope this is the end you've been waiting for :)  
> P.S I have a few other Dhawan Master/13 stories on my profile if you want to check them out x

Chapter Nine: The Doctor Forever

The Master was still confused on if the Doctor had opened the watch. He wished he saw a sign, a telltale glimmer in her eye, a stern look that only the Doctor would give, even the tear streaks under her eyes from Beth's messed up makeup. But she had erased everything, it must have been deliberate, and her stone faced expression never wavered as she set off across town. She had given the Master no order to follow or told him where she was going, but he knew it was better to keep watch over her. A sudden wave came into his mind, strong, full force, from her direction. Telepathy. The Master hadn't felt it in such a long time, his mind so isolated for so many years, that he clutched his head, stumbling back a few steps. 'Thank you. I did love you.' The words floated across the breeze from her direction as his eyes grew wide. Her lips had not moved, but he understood everything now. He retraced his steps to the town square, going to gather her fam.

The scene that greeted him was not what he expected at all. The little girl lay knocked out by the local church that Ryan was supposed to be held captive on top of, Yaz and Graham were nowhere to be seen. She had given him specific instructions when he had received the fob watch. Her fam had to be with her as she changed, all of them, and they had to be safe. It was his job to ensure that this happened. The Master crept forward to the little girl, afraid that she might jump up at any moment, but upon no signal from her The Master was still confused on if the Doctor had opened the watch. He wished he saw a sign, a telltale glimmer in her eye, a stern look that only the Doctor would give, even the tear streaks under her eyes from Beth's messed up makeup. But she had erased everything, it must have been deliberate, and her stone faced expression never wavered as she set off across town. She had given the Master no order to follow or told him where she was going, but he knew it was better to keep watch over her. A sudden wave came into his mind, strong, full force, from her direction. Telepathy. The Master hadn't felt it in such a long time, his mind so isolated for so many years, that he clutched his head, stumbling back a few steps. 'Thank you. I did love you.' The words floated across the breeze from her direction as his eyes grew wide. Her lips had not moved, but he understood everything now. He retraced his steps to the town square, going to gather her fam.

The scene that greeted him was not what he expected at all. The little girl lay knocked out by the local church that Ryan was supposed to be held captive on top of, Yaz and Graham were nowhere to be seen. She had given him specific instructions when he had received the fob watch. Her fam had to be with her as she changed, all of them, and they had to be safe. It was his job to ensure that this happened. The Master crept forward to the little girl, afraid that she might jump up at any moment, but upon no signal from her unconcious form of moving to attack, he wrenched the door open and slammed his body weight against the lock. Graham and Ryan burst out from behind the spiral staircase in the back of the pew, running to the door.

"Yaz called us," Ryan explained. "Told us everything that happened- is she alright? The Doctor, did she change back?" 

"I- I don't know," the Master sighed, truthfully. "What's happened here? The girl's outside, are the rest of the Family after her?" 

"How can *you* not know, she said you were her own people!" Graham exclaimed. "I managed to get Ryan down alright and the girl, well- there was nothing I could do, she lost her footing. It were such a narrow ledge, see, an she was holding us at gunpoint. Never attacked her, just got Ryan back here. An- we heard screams from the Latimer house, Yaz said that was the Doctor, Beth, throwing her out."

"The girl's fine," the Master said. "I saw her breathing when I came in, she'll be out for a while. Better for us, one man down for the Family. Lots of things going on- I'm still catching up on everything myself. Beth has gone to face the Family of Blood for the last time. I've met them before, had to outrun them more than a few times. Did she explain what they were to you?" 

"Said they were after her for something called- regeneration energy," said Graham. "An' that she needed to become human to hide so that they couldn't trace her. I've been keeping the watch under protection in the bar at the hotel, but to my understandin', there's two of em." 

"Well done," the Master looked surprised. "I'm amazed one of her little pets remembered so much, especially in human old age." 

"Hey," Ryan spoke up. "Don't diss me grandad. You're the one who's wearing some bloke's dead body. You tell us what we need to do to help her, because she trusts you more than anyone now." 

"There are two watches," the Master explained after an exasperated sigh. "The Doctor, the other Doctor, DI Hardy, I gave him the empty watch the night of the village fete. He was able to draw the Family off your Doctor's scent for a while, but they managed to track her the exact moment when she was told who killed Danny Latimer. Parts of her real personality started breaking through, sentiment, grief, and they smelled the regeneration energy. Like she said, they're ruthless and don't stop for anything that gets in their way. Where's Yaz now?" 

"She's at the station looking over Joe Miller," Graham replied. "Said she was under strict orders not to leave, or things would be a lot worse for all of us." 

"Damn," the Master kicked a church pew, pacing back and forth. "She's right. I stole the watch back from DI Hardy a few days ago in case something like this happened. But now...I have no idea if she opened the fake watch or the real one." 

"Well then we'd better find that out, sunshine, you've failed her, and that's exactly what she trusted you not to do," said Graham. "How do we tell if she's been changed?" 

The Master raised his eyebrows playfully, of course he'd already laid a plan out from the extra time he had spent in his hotel room. He lead the way out of the church, glancing around once more to confirm the coast was clear. An extremely worrying detail stood out, the little girl was missing. She had woken up in the short time they were inside, it seemed, and went to join the rest for the final battle. The Master was also under strict orders for this section of the plan, make sure everyone stayed inside that was potentially vulnerable or keep them away from the beach. It was for that reason he rushed to the fountain in the center of the town square as fast as his little legs could take him, clambering onto the top. 

"Could I have everyone's attention please?" the Master shouted to the few early morning shoppers and tourists. "These orders come strictly from the Broadchurch Police Offices. The case of Daniel Latimer has been solved, but I'm afraid the killer is still on the loose. We are ordering everyone to stay inside for your own safety. Gather your families, your friends, stay indoors until you hear from police again." 

The town residents teetered nervously, but nothing happened. The Master sighed, of course they would think he was nothing more than the village junkie. Everyone here was so racist to his skin color anyway, why did he think they'd believe him if he spoke the truth? Not even the truth at that, a little white lie, but dramatic enough for their safety. He looked around nervously, almost loosing Beth as she wound around another corner, heading for the beach between crowd members. Loosing Beth was the one thing he couldn't afford, even if the rest of the plan went off the rails. But upon hearing a sharp whistle from behind him, the Master almost tumbled from the fountain. He turned, his eyes wide at seeing Yaz. 

"Did I mention?" Yaz shouted to the rest of them. "Two drinks for the price of one deal at the Traders hotel, good only within the hour. Tell all your friends!" 

Graham rolled his eyes at the horrendous amount of extra work this would give him, but the Master chuckled appreciatevely as the hoard of little humans that he wanted to squish like bugs ran past everyone in the direction of the Trader's. Yaz cornered the Master as soon as he jumped down from the fountain, making a show of brushing off his fancy purple coat. Her hands were on her hips, stood trying to make herself taller than she was, head tilted. It was a failed intimidation, but the Master knew that Yaz was the smartest of all the Doctor's pets, and the one with the most strength from her police training. He had reason to be apprehensive. 

"Thats- the watch," Yaz faltered at seeing the golden object in the Master's palm. "Have you- have you been lying to them? These two, you've been lying, to them- to all of us, this entire time! You kept the watch, the real watch. And you've sent her down there to die as a human!" 

"Such accusations," the Master held up his hands, only some of what she had said was true. "The very idea that I would send my best friend off to die unprotected, now really. Your lives, I couldn't care less about. But her's means something to me. But I confess- as far as I know, Beth is still very much human." 

Yaz looked like she had been holding this back for a very long time. Her chest was heaving in anger, pupils dilated and dark, hair still messed up from when the Doctor had kicked her out of Beth's house earlier. Her braids trembled on her shoulders, giving Ryan and Graham a quick look before lunging herself at the Master, pushing him back towards the fountain as she messily grabbed his jacket lapels with a scream, forcing him to his knees. The Master was only mildly surprised, he knew the girl had some fight in her, and she'd suffered at the hands of her best friend at what she thought was his account. It was time, then, time to come clean and reveal what he'd done, and why he was letting the Doctor go off alone to face the dangerous family of blood seemingly as a human.

"She attacked me!" Yaz screamed. "She attacked me and she's been downing herself in drink. Bloody hell- she thinks she's pregnant! And you think this is a good time to manipulate her and send her off to die! You- leech!" 

"I'm drowning in your compliments, believe me." 

The Master rolled his eyes, but made a show of fishing around in his coat pockets for the watch. He finally unearthed it, despite Yasmin's strong grip on his jacket lapels. His dramatic sigh as he traced the surface of the watch only caused her to put more strain on him, pushing him ever closer to the water. His thumb traced the Gallifreyan words for the last time before it clicked open the notch, letting the silver chain unravel. The watch was empty. The Master snickered as Yaz let go of him in confusion, the look on Ryan and Graham's faces drawing the same conclusion. The Doctor was in more danger than ever, and she was going to fight on the front lines.  
.....  
Beth Latimer's hands were shaking as she made her way through the town square. Her mind was whizzing out of control, one thought after the next, a sea of lies that she was drowning in. The golden surface of the watch glimmered in the very last of the afternoon sun as she nervously passed it back and forth between both hands, her breath shaky as she tried to get a grip on the world. It was crucial that she not fall apart now, the lives of her fam and the people of Broadchurch depended on it. Little did she know, she was followed at a distance by the Master, Yaz and Graham, the Master's hand placed over the trigger of his tissue compression inside his coat pocket. They didn't want to cause any more suspicion to her already upset mind, so decided against signaling to her that they were there, should she need help. 

Her breaths were shaky as she looked back at the town of Broadchurch behind her, contemplating once more the human life that she could have, the life that she was leaving behind. This was her ultimate choice, this was why she had come to the small town. She knew, secretly, deep down, that this life wasn't hers. She knew that another person was lying in wait inside her head, a dark, dangerous person, but the best person in the universe that saved everyone from the monsters. That girl, Yaz, she said that. She said the Doctor was the best person she had ever met. Whatever lay before her was far more deadly than any murderers waiting in Broadchurch prison, even the killer of Beth's son.

She closed her eyes as she stood on the uppermost hill of the cliffside near the hut, taking the fight away from the innocent people. Her gaze turned to the moon, a silent vigil with an empty audience. A human life. A blissful human life with John Smith by a supposedly sleepy seaside resort. Why did it have to be *her* son who was murdered? Why was it always her who broke the peace? It was almost like she was always running to things she could never have. A life she could never live, no matter how much she desperately wanted it. When she opened her eyes, she came to the shed Yaz had mentioned in Beth Latimer's house. The Family of Blood stood on the opposite hill surrounding a mysterious looking object, some sort of metal contraption, covered in a flood of green light, stood over all of them by at least ten feet. 

Beth crossed the hillside, her hands in her pockets, looking once more at the flickering evening lights in Broadchurch as the sound of racious laughter came from the town pub. An invisible tear slid down her cheek, her body shaking as she approached the spaceship. She held her hands up in surrender, her eyes blown wide in terror as her hands shook. She deliberately slid against a wall covered in buttons as she entered the spaceship, looking around at the futuristic gagetry in wonder. Her gaze finally fixed on the Family of Blood like a deer caught in the headlights. 

"Well, well," Mother of Mine hissed as she stepped forward, pacing around Beth in a threatening circle. "Look who we have at last. Come to turn yourself in, have you? You've got no way out of this, you know." 

"You're wrong," Beth swallowed, making Mother of Mine stopped in her tracks. "I don't know who any of you are or what you want. I dunno why you're killin' all these innocent people and I don't know why you want me! What could you possibly want from me? I'm just a mum, a mum who failed, a mum who wants to start over. This Doctor- she...she's too much. She can't get in my head, I can't take her. You take it, take the watch. Please- just take her away!" 

"She made herself an idiot," Father of Mine chuckled. "Again. You'd think she would have known better this time, surely." 

"No matter, Husband of Mine," Mother of Mine sneered. "We have the Doctor at last, all to ourselves. Victory is ours!" 

"Just take her!" Beth's lip quivered as she let out a sob. "I just want a human life. A normal, human life! Tha's all I want. You can have her." 

"QUIET!" Mother of Mine snapped, yanking Beth's arm over and wrenching her small body to the middle of the room.

Beth finally took the watch out of her coat, presenting it to the Family. Mother of Mine shoved her to the ground, forcing her to a bended knee, beneath her. She chuckled at Beth's little squeal, her arm flailing out to support herself and hitting a wall of odd green lights. Her brown hair trembled around her head as she held the watch up to the Family, their eyes wide in interest, creeping ever closer. It was Son of Mine who took it out of her hands, breathing in the scent before flipping the notch....

"It's EMPTY!" Mother of Mine's primal scream rang through the ship.

The Doctor grinned, her brown hair shaking out across her head as her blonde roots became more visible. She stood up, catching her balance on the guard rail. It was no longer Beth Latimer standing in front of them, her stature had changed from a nervous wreck of a mother to tall, proud and confident, a darkness and inner fury brewing in her eyes. She bounded from one end of the ship to the other, taking in everything about the metal pieces of technology hanging across the walls, her senses alerting her of the smoke billowing inside from down below. 

"Basic low level telepathic field!" The Doctor exclaimed, her energy almost infectious as she rushed to different parts of the ship, examining the circuitry. "Mixed with my amazin' acting skillz. And yes, that is skillz with a 'z.' I'm surprised you didn't notice, what with you lot and your sense of smell. I'd have smelt a time lord energy from miles away. Bit embarrassing. But I've got to say, I don't like the looks of your high speed warp drive. Funny thing about warp drive engines, if you reverse the polarity and rewire a few buttons, d'you know what happens?" 

The Family shook their heads, each looking as dumbfounded as the next when the Doctor picked up the said wires hanging across the column in the middle of the ship. She grabbed both ends of the long coils stretching across the room and touched the ends against each other, creating a powerful blue sparking.

"Nor me!" The Doctor grinned. "But I bet sticking around would be a bad idea. See ya!" 

The Doctor took off, her long strides allowing her to be the first outside the door before the Family caught on to the imminent danger. She sprinted across the wide open field, having deliberately chosen a spot out of the way of any humans potentially getting hurt, far away from Broadchurch. She knew better this time, knew how the Family worked and what they wanted from her. The two watches were a perfect diversion, the Master even more so. Cast an unpredictable time lord into the mix and they wouldn't be able to tell where her true time lord energy was from one day to the next, while her fam tried to keep her human form safe. Sure, things had fucked up, but she knew they had the potential to with the Master involved.

The Doctor threw herself in the air, landing harshly against a set of bushes nearby the cliffside hut as the family ran behind her, closing in. Just in time, the explosion rocked the cliffs of Broadchurch, bits of metal and circitry flying through the air as the Doctor tasted the ash on the inside of her lips. Her tiny body looked like a limp rag doll as it was caught in the blast and flung against the wall of the cliffside hut, causing Yaz to rush out from their hiding spot. The Master was out soon after her, noticing what she didn't, that Mother of Mine was the first up after the explosion of their ship and making a beeline for the Doctor, not caring that Yaz was in the way.

"DOCTOR!" Yaz yelled, her voice strained.

It *had* to be the Doctor, her telltale soft grin confirmed it as she was turned over by the remaining shaking of the ground that sent a few of the cliffside rocks tumbling into the ocean. Her brown hair threw everything off, but it was a temporary solution for her to blend in. Mother of Mine closed in as soon as Yaz reached the Doctor and pulled out her gun to shoot, but the Master was ready. The orange beam from the tissue compression startled everyone, Yaz and the Doctor each trying to shield the other from the laser as it hit Mother of Mine full in the chest. The Doctor's mouth fell open as the alien shrieked and screamed before reducing to the size of a tiny doll, and the hillside was quiet once more.

"Yaz," the Doctor breathed, instantly sputtering into a fit of coughs from the smoke filling the air, her body trembling from the force when hit the wall. "Yaz, I need- Yaz..."

"Doctor, I'm here," Yaz smiled, feeling for her pulse point, checking her hearts. "You're alright, you'll be fine."

The Doctor finally gave Yaz a small smile, her eyes never looked more exhausted, her body limp. She turned to see Ryan and Graham standing nearby, watching in concern. A million thoughts raced through her mind, what had happened to them? She remembered bits and pieces of Beth's life, but it was like a daydream. A dream she could never fully, truly experience. This was where she belonged, with monsters and explosions and her fam caring for her and loving her. She had been so stupid not to realize it earlier, but her mind was so muddled, with drink and with the realization that she wasn't pregnant at all. But her gaze fell on the Master, who was putting his tissue compression away, tucking it in his front pocket.

"Why did you do that?" asked the Doctor. "You killed her- I was going to give her a chance."

"That's the trouble with you, Doctor," the Master sighed. "You're too generous. She was about to shoot Yaz in the back, and would've done if I hadn't got her first. It's kill or be killed. They've exhausted second chances with you, I looked up what happened with Joan in the 1900s. Falling in love with a human John Smith only to find out he was just a fairytale? Sound familiar?"

"But- that's entirely different," the Doctor said, brushing a hair out of her eyes in confusion. "You knew it wasn't a fairytale, you knew I wasn't really Beth. I gave you that luxury knowing that you'd be the right one to keep an eye on me."

"Luxury?" the Master tsked, spinning on the spot to face her. "Is that what it was, Doctor? Do you- do you even *know* how hard it was, trying to keep your real life hidden from you? I'm sure Yaz here can attest, you kicked her out of your house this morning after she tried to tell you who you really were. An' do you know what I've had to put up with in this shit hole? Racism is just the start, her, this one- mocking me out in the town square, putting me on a pedestal for all to see as she humilated me while you were cooped up in that nice little house of yours. What about me? Stuck in the Traders hotel with only a friendly bar tender for company, one of your pets while the police breathed down my backside. Do you think that was kind? Choosing me to protect you?"

"No," the Doctors voice was small, tilting her head as she studied the Master in a new light. "I think it was what I had to do to stay alive. What would you have done if I'd died? Came close, didn't I? Beth's son, he wasn't so lucky, what if that was me?"

The Master gave a soft sigh, kicking a blade of grass and mud aside from the hill. He cast his gaze over at the cliffside hut, at the crashing waves tumbling over the salty rocks, determined to look at absolutely anything but her. Graham, Ryan and Yaz had all gone quiet as Yaz helped the Doctor stand, her small body shivering, the brown hair still looking so wrong across her figure. Her eyes were always the same, those damn hazel eyes with all the different shades of the rainbow reflecting every time she was about to cry. He'd seen it so many times in that horrible house of Beth's, saved her from drowning in the tears. Did she even remember?

"I'd never forgive myself," the Master admitted. "And I think you know that. In your diary, the Journal of Impossible Things. You drew me so- sad. Is that how you see me, Doctor?"

"No," the Doctor replied, a soft smile. "I think that's how you see yourself. A sad Victorian fairytale. Master, please. You've got to tell me some time or another, I know you almost did in that room. That night I showed you the journal. Do you come before or after Missy? What happened to her? I was going to check the underground levels of the ship, I swear I were an' the cybermen- there were so many, they overpowered me. What happened to Missy?"

The Master took another look at the Family of Blood, who were all extremely confused at this sudden conversation and outburst of repressed feelings for such a long time. He then glanced at Yaz, Graham and Ryan, new pets that the Doctor had taken fancy to so quickly after whats-her-name with the curly hair or Clara. How quickly did the Doctor move on? How quickly did she forget? Would his time as John Smith just be another story in her mind? How long would she even remember what happened to Missy? Did it matter? He spun on his heel, turning back to the hillside as he started to walk back to the hotel, calling over his shoulder. 

"Nice drawings."

It was all he said before trekking across the huge hill leading back to town once more. The Doctor let him go, not knowing if she would see him again when this was all over. She took one look at her fam, her fam who hadn't abandoned her despite how cruel she'd been to them as a human, despite how she forgot everything about them and what they had done for her. And in a surprising move, she opened her arms. Yaz was the first to hug her gently, not wanting to scare her away, before Ryan and Graham awkwardly joined and slung their arms around her shoulders.

"Thanks for looking after me," the Doctor grinned sadly. "The way I treated ya, it were inexcusable. If you wanted to go home right now, I wouldn't blame you."

"You can't be serious," Yaz looked alarmed. "Why would we want to go home after all the trouble we went through just to get you back?"

"Like we said, Doc, an' you can choose to believe it or not," Graham said. "We're here for you, always, as your family."

"And family don't abandon each other," said Ryan. "Even when the going gets tough. Or if they get dangled from a clock tower."

"You what?" the Doctor exclaimed, looking at the Family of Blood, alone, defeated, a stark contrast to their relieved little circle.

"Long story," said Yaz with a soft grin. "Got you out though, didn't we? As promised. And I'll tell you what, Broadchurch Police seem to think I'm worth something after all from my time watching over Joe Miller. Said none of them would touch the cage with a ten foot cattle rod."

"That's my Yaz," the Doctor smiled.

They all knew this was incredibly rare for the Doctor to show affection, to even allow touch from an outsider and savored it while they could. The Doctor separated first, Yaz only lingering for a moment, as though she wanted the Doctor's touch starvation to slowly fade away with trust and time. She was once more tall stanced and heroic as she faced down the Family of Blood, all looking rather sheepish and scared.

"Please," Brother of Mine spoke up. "Spare my sister. You can do what you like to us, but we were all under the control of Mother. She never let us go, released us from our traps against our will after breaking from hers. We would've stayed, we listened to what you said last time."

"You tracked me down here because of her," the Doctor said, looking at her body across the hillside, close to where Daniel Latimer was found dead, then up at the stars. "How many more? How many more deaths will it take? When will it be enough? I'm sick of it. I'm so sick of loosing people, loosing everyone who matters. With Beth I could've had a short life. I could've known everyone around me was safe when Joe Miller was caught and put in jail. But- it's always back to this. The woman who fights the monsters."

"That's who you are, Doc," Graham spoke up, a friendly hand on her shoulder. "If I'm right, they're askin' for mercy. Now I know you might not want to spare them that after what happened last time, but I don't think you're like the Master. I think you give people a chance."

The Doctor's expression was stoic, unreadable, as she took a deep breath and extended a hand to the little girl. She looked quite scared, her eyes wide, shaking her little head of hair as she looked between her father and brother. But the Doctor knelt on one knee, her eyes soft, and she slowly wandered over, but kept at a close distance.

"I'll take you all back to your home planet," the Doctor said. "Before the war. You can start again. But I want you to remember this, I want you to remember mercy. Perhaps last time I taught you the wrong lesson. To run and flee as far as you possibly could from the woman who stops the monsters. Sometimes the monsters aren't who you expect."

The Doctor took the little girls hand as she lead the strange looking family back to the TARDIS, having remembered that it was now hidden in a handy little shed that she had found just off the coastline of Broadchurch. Away from anywhere that Beth could find without looking, away from where any humans could accidentally stumble upon it. As she flung open the doors to the shed and saw the magnificent blue temple standing before her, a grin spread across her face, her eyes sparkling in joy that hadn't been seen in a long time. Her brown hair was already starting to fade back to blonde as she unlocked the doors, the key stowed in Beth's back pocket of her jeans. The ship warbled, lighting up in a warm, golden color as if to welcome her home. She looked quite strange in human clothing with the alien surroundings, but had a surprise in mind for the fam when she came back.

She returned the Family of Blood to their home planet before the war as she had promised. While she had no garuntee that they would try to find her or another time lord again to feed from their energy, she had to hope for the best that they would be reminded of the mercy she showed them. Perhaps they were capable of the same. They watched as the TARDIS soared over the fields of blue grass, walking off together hand in hand to start a new life. The Doctor sat alone at her console for a moment, contemplating, breathing with her ship's rhythmic, calming hum. Beth had been through the unimaginable. It wasn't the Doctor's child, but she had felt the emotions all the same, they had crashed over her like waves, she had drowned her sorrows in drink. If this was what she was capable of one day, this was her reminder to keep Yaz, Ryan and Graham close. She learned who she could trust, and who was there for her. When the TARDIS landed in Broadchurch once more, she came out dressed in her usual garb, her long grey coat sweeping over her boots, blonde hair starting to shine through.

"That's more like it," Yaz grinned. "Welcome back, Doctor."

"Doctor."

The Doctor turned around as footsteps approached her from behind, startled to see the Master. She thought he might have already left, and wouldn't blame him. She realized the hell she had put him through, the Master hated humans anyway. To be stuck among them with orders not to kill whilst she fell in love with him as a human even though their love could never be, it must have only strained their relationship further, and she would be an idiot to think otherwise.

"You're still here," she said, dumbfounded. "I thought-"

"Thought I'd leave last night?" the Master said. "I did. Got about as far as the next tube station before I had to turn back. God, I was *so* elated to get the *fuck* out of here and put it all behind me, but- I needed to tell you this Doctor, because you need to understand something about Missy. She-"

"You don't have to," the Doctor cut him off. "Master, if it upsets you, you don't need to tell me. You've been through enough."

"Doctor, for once in your life shut up," the Master chuckled. "You need to know, no matter what face I am. Missy was going to stand with you. She was going to join you and find you to leave that cursed ship together, but she...didn't make it. Her past caught up with her. You just- need to know."

The Doctor stared at him, moving a blonde hair out of her eyes. He puzzled her beyond belief, a mystery she couldn't stop solving. But the human Beth had fallen in love with John Smith, not him. Right? Beth hadn't known he was actually the Master, right? The more she thought about it, the more she had to admit that they were so similar, so much alike that they couldn't help falling in love with each other again and again, through all the centuries they'd lived together. Perhaps some of it was real, and perhaps deep down, they still felt it for each other.

"Do you want to come?" the Doctor asked in a rush, making him freeze. "Come with us, I mean- one trip."

"Doc," Graham stepped forward, a hand on her shoulder. "He's not really O. He's not really John Smith. I know how much you wanted him to be but- he's still wearing the body of a human he killed."

"A bit grim," the Master smirked, but didn't deny it, knowing that the single, glowing chance was gone. "It's alright, Doctor. I'll be fine on my own.

"I'm sorry, but it's true," the Doctor said with a sad smile. "Because I can't have you on board- it would break me. No matter what happens to us from here, I- you have my lover's face. And you aren't him."

"You mean John Smith?" the Master questioned, raising a brow. "O?"

"No," the Doctor replied. "I don't. And that TARDIS helpline, keep it, will you? You say you'll be fine but- I know that face."

The Doctor turned to her fam as the Master gave her a look of almost hopelessness, mixed with pride and envy, before turning on his heel and heading in the opposite direction. His hands smoothed down his hair and patted down his jacket before he wandered down into the underground station.

"Shall we?" the Doctor grinned. "How was Broadchurch? Sleepy seaside resort, sounds right out of a murder mystery, doesn't it? Did I ever tell you about me and Agatha Christie? We solved this murder at an estate and there were this giant wasp..."

The Master paused right before disappearing underground, waiting until the Doctor and her fam were out of earshot. It was then he pulled out his tissue compression device, switching on the radio output to contact someone. He ran his hand through his beard nervously, scratching his mustache as he stopped on the third step down, just barely seeing the Doctor's telltale grey coat as they disappeared down the cobbled street.

"What is it?" Barton asked, his voice laced with agitation. "Has something gone wrong?"

"Not at all," the Master replied with a slight smirk. "On the contrary. A string of wrong things lead to a carefully organized end result. Plans work that way, you see. If not necessarily in the right order. The machinery for my hut. Has it been secured?"

"It will arrive this evening with two MI6 security guards," said Barton. "Now, what was it you've discovered?"

"Information," the Master said after a pause. "I know everything about how to craft O, and how to get the perfect trap for the Doctor put into action. I should've started years ago but, well. I didn't know she had human nature. All it takes is a little...romantic touch. And trust me...it will be...explosive."

..... THE END


End file.
